New Caledonia 18/02/2010 to 05/03/2010

In this instalment: good food, sour pusses, pigs, family and alcohol. Oh, and insects.

Pictures are at http://picasaweb.google.com/vemcharrier for those whose lips get tired when reading my guff.

Noumea

You know you are heading towards France or in this case a French Protectorate when not one of the hostesses on the plane can raise a smile. Great thing about the French. You know exactly how they are feeling. Makes them rubbish poker players.

V’s cousin, Fabien met us in the airport and transported us and our bags to his house which he shares with 4 friends. Our combined weight was a little too much for the little Peugeot 106, as it was having some rear axle problems (not to mention missing half an exhaust). The smell of burning material and the squeal of a banshee had an Alsatian dog poking its head out of an adjacent car at the peage. Man’s best friends were being summoned all across the land by our failed bearing.

Fab had kindly lent us his room, condemning himself to the sofa.

He warned us not to open the window as their pig smelled a bit. We thought that this merited inspection but to the dismay of the house, the beast had dug his way out of the enclosure. He was found nearby and then some comedy Rocky-type animal chasing ensued. I managed to get a hand on him but in a Jim Leighton manner (couldn’t catch a pig in a hallway – check out his bandy legs on google) he got around me. He was last seen disappearing into the twilight, never to return.

So we downed multiple beers and pastis to commiserate the loss of the pig and hoped to have him return in the morning. The boys were working the next day, some raising their sorry heads at 5.00am, but this didn’t stop them drinking way past 3am.

We were up early enough (around 6am) to head into town with Fabien. Him to work, us to pick up a hire car.

The plan was to tour the island with Fabien and his friend (and housemate), Thomas.

After a month an a half of driving an automatic on the left side of the road, getting used to a manual gearchange and sticking to the right took a couple of minutes.

Another way to recognise you are on French soil is if the sides of the cars are like the skins of golfballs. It took us one night to get a(nother) ding in our door from a 4x4 parked beside us.

We took the little train tour of Noumea, similar to the wally train you can take in Monaco and Nice. It was a private ride, us being the only passengers. The driver was equipped with an impressive mullet (he looked like a Chuckle Brother but without the ‘tache – try google again for pictures) and the friendship of all the inhabitants. He tooted his horn, rang his bell and waved to everyone he passed. He received a call, wave or thumbs up in reply.

Everyone you cross here waves at you in a gesture of friendship. It is genuine and just so laid back and relaxing.

It was not always so. The country has come close to civil war on a number of occasions. The main trigger has been the clashes between the loyalist (those who wish to remain attached to France) and pro-independence (those who want to govern themselves) movements.

Semi-autonomy was granted by France in a series of political masterstrokes and a referendum on independence pledged in 20 years time back in 1984. Now that everyone can vote, which was not always the case, it is a much debated but less heated subject.

Noumea is a little ragged around the edges, with some rubbish strewn in places and some poorly surfaced roads. This is all part of its charm. Beside its beautiful beaches and harbours there are ramshackle concrete buildings in various states of disrepair.

Compared to Fiji and Tahiti, which each receive around 250,000  tourists each year, the 25,000 that New Caledonia welcomes is small beer. The infrastructure is not here to handle the hordes that descend on the other Pacific islands and it is lacking in extreme luxury resorts which the others have. Again, this is a blessing in some ways as you have a real sense of a town, and not a holiday destination.

We took a tour of the Tjibaou museum. This stunning Genoan architect – Renzo Piano who also designed the Pompidou Centre in Paris - (thanks Matteo) inspired building – or more correctly, buildings – is named after the local Kanak independence campaigner and leader who was assassinated in 1989. It is state of the art in terms of using natural resources, blending in with the environment and using nature to cool, heat and light the structure.

Needing refreshed after our strenuous sightseeing we lunched in a classic French restaurant, La Chaumiere. It was surprising to be asked if we wanted to be in the smoking or non-smoking section.

More welcoming was having bread with our meal, without having to pay for it. How we have missed good bread at dinner or lunch. Also the quality food was above reproach. V and I just made appreciative noises at each other across our table. Oz and NZ have pies but this was Champions League level for much less cash. More bread, less dough.

Fab met us after work, we bought a sim card for the mobile phone and headed to the beach for a swim.

We grabbed dinner from a little van that serves Chinese food, similar in style to that in Tahiti. After eating on the beach, Fab and V downed a couple of drinks in a bar perched over the water before heading back to the house to the pool and more beer.

Just like the anti-smoking laws, there are a few regulations that have yet to reach these shores. Or their full impact has not affected the country as much as it has in France. Case in point is drink driving. I was on duty so was on softies (until I got home) but it seems for many NC’s the two are not mutually exclusive. One of Fab’s housemates totalled his Audi A4 into a tree when full of booze. He was lucky to stagger away, although the car sleeps with the fishes. He is still paying off the loan, had his licence revoked and is due to retake his test next month.

All the boys have been done. It hasn’t met the same socially unacceptable status that has been in Britain for many years and is now in most of France.

On a less sombre and even less sober note, the boys were now on holiday and it was into the pool and into the booze.

Next morning we were off (fairly) early for a hike. The countryside is red, like Oz .

Just like its neighbour it is also rich in minerals, which is a blessing and a burden which I’ll get to later.

We stopped for a swim in a mountain river pool, then had our picnic lunch, washed down with some beer.

To celebrate our dalliance into the wild, that night we had more alcohol and a swim in the (house) pool.

Bouraille

V drove as I was still over the limit from the night before. As I mentioned before, this doesn’t deter many of the NC’s, the paper being full of stories of those taking one too many to steady their hands on the wheel.

We tried to book kite surf lessons but there was no space available. So we played petanque instead. The 4 of us were in adjacent bungalows and we drank, cooked, ate and then drank some more together before retiring to bed.

The boys were up early (the benefits of youth) for a run and I regaled them with a British* breakfast.

Following our fatty feed, off we tottered to the pierced rock and La Bonhomme, the latter being a figure standing like the head of a Buddha.

We swam in the heavy surf, just managing to keep the saltwater out of our beer.

Surrounding us were turtles’ nests, protected by cages. Later that evening at the viewpoint, just offshore we spied turtles, dolphins and rays before heading back to our bungalows for food and wine.

* Ingredients were French; sausage, bacon, eggs, tomato, beans, bread and we washed it down with some wine.

Poum -  Malabou Beach Hotel

When it rains here, the tarmac steams. You drive through a fine mist of evaporated rainwater shrouding the car like the fog in a horror movie. It’s lovely.

We had booked into a resort similar to the one V and I had stayed with in Tahiti. The bungalows were not over the water and the standard was not the same, but it was still excellent. We played ping pong and mini golf, all accompanied with beer. The buffet dinner was good (although not to the majesty of the New Year in Tahiti) and we finished off back on the table tennis table but with full size racquets and actual tennis balls.

A great thing about here was that they let you be an idiot as long as you weren’t disturbing anyone else. You could do what you wanted and if you killed yourself, then on your head be it. Brilliant. After the boys had played some morning tennis (on a court) we took some kayaks around the bay. All the equipment was free of charge from the resort. The buoyancy aids were there, but you weren’t obliged to put them on and no one forced you to. As I said, go for it.

Hienghene and Tribu

Just as in Peru at Lake Titicaca we decided to try and stay with some indigenous (Melanesian) people in their community. It was a different experience from the one in South America.

On the way we had taken a small ferry across the river. It was like the raft of Huckleberry Finn and Tom (the escaped slave) from the Mark Twain novel. A direct drive 2 cylinder aircooled engine turned a shaft and propeller. One on either side for each direction. When the master wished to go the other way, he stopped one engine and started the opposite.

Am not sure of the alignment but bits of grease and packing were seeping from the intermediate bearings. One was supported on a steel framework, the other wooden. Functional, I feel is the best term to use. A little later we stopped at the viewpoints to wonder at the rock formations, one termed the ‘brooding hen’.

Arriving at the local tribu (tribe), we were not made to feel as welcome as we had in Peru; rather for our cash and we did not even eat together, depriving both parties of a method of exchange. A bit of a shame really.

The most interaction we had was when the lights went out unexpectedly. Thomas being an electrician investigated and narrowed the cause down to a defective DVD player.

Volcanic ash, humidity and salt in the air plays havoc with cars, never mind fragile electronics that are left outside open to the atmosphere.

There was also water everywhere. A garden hose constantly running, creating pools of water for my friends, mosquitoes, to breed in. The toilet constantly ran. Thomas said that the fuse box and electrical wiring was shocking. Literally.

A little bit of assistance and education in some matters from within the community is definitely required.

The thatched roofed hut that we spent the night in was just like the scene from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Things with more legs than a football team crawled everywhere, but mostly on me.

Their favourite trick (apart from biting my belly) was dropping onto me whilst we played top trumps and Rummikube (a kind of scrabble but with numbers).

It was leaping.

Needless to say that I didn’t sleep much that night.

When I got up to make my customary wee-wee, I passed the sleeping horses, cats, chickens and dogs on the way to the toilet. Around the can and at the sink were things that slept less than me. The tap was moving with earwigs.

Now I have no problem with insects, until they move or they are bigger than my foot. Or both. When I did manage to find some sleep the rooster woke me up at 5.30am.

Refuge de Farino

We traversed across the mountainous middle of the country, the Scenic struggling with its 4 adults and alcohol laden boot up the winding slopes. The scenery (no pun intended) was incredible. More incredible was the open cast mining for nickel that takes place in NC. They basically chop off the top of the mountains and leave it like that. None of this minimum impact stuff. Just decapitated hillsides. Foul.

The lagoon here is UNESCO heritage protected. This had a unifying effect on the whole island. The attempt to include the coral reefs under the same umbrella of protection was prevented by political pressure from the mining companies. Thomas was telling us that he was working on the construction of a new mine up North.

The mine is a divisive topic in New Caledonia. Although the company has promised to replant the land it destroys, the way it will extract the carcinogenic nickel is controversial, with the effluent from the chemical process being led to the sea. Coral bleaching may result and the third largest natural reef in the world be damaged.

Just like smoking, the full environmental zeitgeist has not hit NC yet. It has the most 4x4s per capita than anywhere else in the world. There are more Toyota Hi-Lux here than with the Taliban. Saying that there are occasions when they come in handy, like the time when I bottomed the Renault’s sump on a rocky track up to a viewpoint.

For a break we stopped at some falls to dip our feet in the mountain water. There, schoolkids were fully immersing themselves in a manner of ways; jumping from trees, sliding down the rocks headfirst, on their feet and on their bums into the pools.

There were a few adults partaking too.

Since it was a schoolday, am not sure if the grown ups should have been working. Fabien explained that there is practically 100% employment in New Caledonia. As Richard Ashcroft nearly said; ‘there’s work if you want it’. Many from France come here to be employed – Fab and his housemates all did – and to change their standard of life from what they could expect back home.

Not to say that NC is without problems. Just as back home, strikes occur occasionally, especially when revolving around the employment of the local indigenous nations.

It was raining again (it is aptly termed the wet season) enough to have Noah reach for his toolbox and we decided to get wetter still by dipping ourselves into Trou Feulliet or la cuve.

We stayed in a beautiful bungalow together, with Thomas and Fab cooking king prawns, washed down with the wine we brought from Margaret River.

I have to mention the wildlife here again. Unlike Oz, where everything can kill you – even a Koala can give you a nasty (bear) hug – there are no poisonous insects in NC. Just like Ireland, there are no snakes although I am unsure if St Patrick was involved.

However there are plenty of steroidal insects that are just too big to be real.

Thankfully they are too heavy to move so they leave it to the little ones to bite me. I’ve had ants in a blister in my toe, a fly sup juice from another blister on my other foot and mosquitoes slurp my blood from any part that I haven’t covered in repellent; the end of my big toe, the sole of my foot, the cuticle at the base of my nail. If you wash your hands before a meal or dip your foot in the sea, expect them to be on your appendages within seconds. It could be the humidity that saps your strength in NC, but it is more than likely blood loss.

The following day after a toasting walk in the nearby park we stopped to eat at Chez Mamie. Here a fusion of local ingredients and cooking with a twist of Western influences is still prepared by the originator, a great grandmother of indigenous descent. Simply wonderful. We could not stop eating.

Noumea

Back at the house of Fab, Thomas, Greg, Flo and Thibault it was pool and darts time. A couple of duels in the piscine, one of the boys atop the shoulders of another. As the Pastis and the beer kicked in the games were drawn to a close before serious injury occurred.

Greg, Thomas and Fab (who could hardly speak) got their glad rags on for a night on the town. We were up at 4am the next morning so decided to skip it.

Ile des Pins

As we were leaving the next morning, Thomas had returned with a young lady and they were both in the pool. Greg was flat out in his room. Either that or the pig had returned and was snuffling for truffles under his mattress. We had borrowed Fab’s venerable Peugeot 106. It wouldn’t start. I realised that this was due to the keypad immobiliser and we didn’t have the code. V returned to where Thomas was trying to eat the face off his new companion and thankfully he remembered it.

After parking Fab’s (non-fab) car we bought our tickets for the boat.

The rough crossing was not helped by a Miley Cyrus Disney movie. Enough to turn the hardest of stomachs.

V and I had to step outside into the rain and the salt water spray to prevent our beverages from the night before making an unwanted second appearance.

Others were not so lucky.

After checking into our bungalow, we slept for a good 6 hours. Feeling ill, pastis, beer and 3 hours kip the night before is not a good combination.

We stepped out late in the afternoon to orientate ourselves and search for some food. The white beaches here are mesmerising, and somewhere that serves food difficult to find. Back to what I said about catering to tourists. Just like in Nice, after 3pm try finding a restaurant that will put a plate in front of you. Here, if it is not between 12.00pm and 2.pm/ 7.30pm and 9.00pm and if it’s a Sunday or Monday, you’re bolloxed.

At a bar in a hotel conveniently located on the beach we managed to find somewhere that would serve us the first food we had eaten for nearly 20 hours (not withstanding the snack on the boat that morning).

The following morning we ate our breakfast (the ants having a go at my toe) and lugged our bags the km to our next lodging. Less character but closer to the beach.

For fairly new dwellings in an area where mosquitoes are the dominant species and we are lower in the food chain why did the windows not have mosquito screens? An architectural oversight of monumental proportions,

We set off to the highest point of the island without sunscreen, hats, insect repellent or water. With our flip-flops we were like Bambi on ice as we slithered our way up the damp and rocky trail.

Waves of rain followed by blistering sunshine then refreshing winds alternated during our ascent. On the way down, some properly equipped walkers pointed at us and our lack of suitable equipment.

We made it, although a little blistered (from our feet slipping on our wet Havaianas), moist and sunburnt.

It was then time to try and find some food.

The search for the Holy Grail was as before, with us finally returning to the place of the previous night after walking for another 2 hours in vain. Sunday, you see. We hiked a couple of clicks to a rotisserie we had been assured would be open, only to find it closed. Even though its opening hours were duly marked for all to see that it should have been very open. Very French.

Rules are to be broken if you want to go to the beach or just can’t be *rsed turning up that day.

While eating, we watched a young cat stalk two seagulls before V gave me swimming lessons. For the record, I can swim, but I am rubbish at it. Some expert tuition and a 300% improvement. Still work to do, though

Since there was not a laundry on the island and no service at the hotel we negotiated with the chap at reception to throw our stuff into the hotel machines after their own. Price to be sorted out later. We couldn’t obtain the status of our smalls from him, as he knocked off at 6.00pm. After a 3 hour lunch break between 12.00pm and 3.00pm. Not bad work if you can get it.

Sundowners at our now favourite bar while the rain poured down on the bay and our young cat friend purred with our strokes and sat on our laps. She even played like our own Saphie, biting my hand. When we left to eat at the hotel, she followed us part of the way, meowing in desperation for us to return. V almost cried.

Early next morning we had booked a voyage on a pirogue, a bottomed out canoe with an outrigger.

There was a mullet on show and it has been captured for the gallery.

The wind was against us so we motored for a little while before engaging the traditional means of propulsion. One of our fellow travellers was stung by a jellyfish when draping his feet in the sea. Our captain replied that they normally don’t make it into the lagoon, but it must have been the combination of wind and current that brought them inshore.

Apparently the waters around here can kill you even if the land animals cannot. Venomous sea snakes, spiney poisonous fish and aggressive sea shells – seriously, cone shells can murder you and they are not shy – and jelly fish all amount to a swim that is as exciting as taking a bath with a fan heater.

After making land we walked through the forest (in our flip flops once more) to the natural sea pool and where we would have lunch.

Another thing that can kill you in NC is a falling coconut. This eventuality accounts for the deaths of more people per year than quadbikes (which as Clarkson quips have maimed more people than world wars). Strewn throughout the forest floor were downed coconuts and amongst them coconut crabs. These marine animals come ashore to climb the trees, snip off the coconuts and feed on the flesh of the shattered fruit. Most scuttled out of our way, but one held his pincers up to show that he was there and not to trample on him as he ran out of sight whilst another, about the size of a donkey, stood his ground to defend his family of nippers.

Coconut crab is a delicacy in the Pacific, but their numbers are falling. Like coconuts.

On the way to our destination teems of much smaller fiddler crabs hid in their holes, except one of course who was unafraid. Thinking a little further he decided to take the hole option but his claw was too big to get inside. I don’t think he will prosper.

The natural pool is a seawater haven of fish. They swim around you as you wade, snorkel or sit in this paradise. One of our fellow travellers spotted the bodies of small blue jellyfish (around 10cm long including hurty bits) on the beach. Should we go into the water? There were already 5 or 6 others in the pool and we decided to give it a go as they were not screaming. Yet.

The dehydrated corpses of the invertebrates on the sand can still sting you if you walk on them. When I did, equipped with my multipurpose Havaianas, they popped like bubblewrap. Fun and danger in equal measure.

V and I floated around with the fish for an hour or so until a snorkeller exclaimed that she had been stung by a jellyfish. She had tentacles on her upper arms, her upper lip and forehead. She scraped them off with a fin, but her skin had already started to blister.

Time to get out.

We ate at Chez Regis, where your food is prepared in a pit, enclosed in banana leafs and surrounded by hot rocks. The mixture of fruits, potatoes, coconut and fish/ chicken is fantastic.

Our boat run home was later in the afternoon so we had time for a doze on a nearby beach where you could see and hear the surf break over the reefs before heading back home.

We collected our washing and had a beer to celebrate another successful day with neither of us being bitten or stung and me not having to rotate my Calvin Kleins any more.

In the morning a small motorboat ferried us to a sandbar, where we snorkelled, swam, and explored – not much to see for about an hour. It was truly paradise, the waves lapping across the small strip of land – we hung our dry gear on some driftwood to prevent it drifting off. Our master came and fetched – on the way I spotted a sea snake - us to the Ile de Brosse where we snorkelled amongst the shallow coral reefs. There were fish everywhere, in all shapes colours and sizes. Beautiful.

We ate grilled lobster and baked fish prepared by some locals while we gazed out over the white sands and the clear blue sea.

For sundowners we joined 5 people whom we had eaten with at lunch for more marvellous fare.

We never got their names. I really have to work harder at this socialising thing.

Dinner was so good a cat jumped onto my chair and started helping herself to my duck when I had turned to feed a forkful to V.

Next morning was time to check-out and after fighting off the mosquitoes in a battle of Britain manner (although in that encounter the Mosquitoes were on the goodies’ side) we headed to the beach. Hiring an aquacycle we splished out to our boat we would be taking that evening back to Noumea. American designed, it is heavier than a lead piano and covered in more warning signs than a nuclear power station control panel. If you removed the advisory plates, the thing would be half the weight.

Anyway, we needed the exercise.

Settling under the shade of some coconut trees we stretched out our towels and ourselves on the beach, careful to ensure we were not below the possible life-ending fruits.

Just then, a 4x4 passes spraying insecticide into the foliage. It looked like the locals have had enough of the mosquitoes, too. There had been a number of cases of Dengue fever and the authorities had reacted to the concerns. All good, but the poison was indiscriminate with the flying insect population and such as we were beneath the trees, it was not coconuts that started falling on us, but large flies, moths and other beasts. Which I loved of course.

After a bit of swimming we took our lunch at the spot that had served us well before, unfortunately without the cat for company. It was amusing to see the Japanese tourists order from the menu and laugh in surprise with what they had unknowingly asked for when their meals turned up. The same for us awaits in Asia no doubt.

With the sea like a mirror and the sun shining the boat crossing back to the mainland was a pleasure. Fab just arrived in the car as we glided into the port. The car was toiling under the combined weight once more and we were relieved to get back to the house – for more beer, pastis, darts, swimming pool and barbecue.

We had plans for the next day; shopping, essentials, a good lunch to treat Fab. However V was ill so we took the time to relax in the house, with Fab mowing the grass on his day off.

The big event of the calendar was happening that evening – David Guetta was playing a set on the beach in Noumea – and Fab had gotten us tickets.

Normally the French organise these things very well. As events they are safe, good natured, civilised and have a great atmosphere with everyone joining in, dancing and singing along. It was therefore a bit of a surprise to learn that no alcohol was on sale at the venue.

Fab explained the reasoning behind the no alcohol policy. Apparently the indigenous folk have a real problem tolerating the demon drink. Similarly to the Aboriginal people of Australia it destroys them.

Parking was quite a distance away, with free buses to take you the last 4 or 5 clicks to the beach. Checkpoints and riot police ensured that there were no transgressors. All this for only 7000 people.

To counteract the first point, Thomas and Fab skulled a bottle of whisky between them and a couple of beers before we departed the house. Second point, I drove. The car was screaming under the load of the 4 of us. We stopped to pick up our bits for the Asian leg of our journey; sunscreen, more insect repellent, Malarone and a bottle of Pastis (as thanks to the boys for lodging us) in the supermarket.

V and I shopped, the boys had a beer.

Thomas was blootered and thought it a good idea to bite my nipples (or more accurately termed man-boobs). After a couple of beers in a pub in town I handed the keys over to V and she took us to the concert car park as she was not drinking after downing antibiotics earlier in the day.

We lost Thomas immediately after entry.  We don’t even know if he made it inside. We had had to physically lift him from the car and on the bus he was keeping the crowd entertained.

No toilets at the gig so it was ‘au natural’ in the surrounding area. Not the best if you are a female or if you have the runs.

Many of the crowd were downing their wine and beer before entering the controlled area. For some it had already been too much and it was like the Somme, prone bodies everywhere, when I answered the call of nature.

I have to admit I don’t get David Guetta’s Euro-pop/ anthem/ cheesy techno riff stuff. The crowd reacted to his well known themes, though. They then settled into the doldrums when he mixed up some other artists’ work in between the markers of his chart toppers. I enjoyed the intermediate bits more than the mobile phone waving bits. As I said, not a fan.

So he didn’t lift the crowd and keep them in that trance, building to a climax as good club DJ would have. In my opinion anyway. And he only played 2 hours. Not strenuous stuff. In the local rag it had said that he would play 2 or 3 hours depending on the atmosphere.

Says it all.

Fab was chasing a young lady he had started chatting up on the bus to the concert so with Thomas AWOL it was just V and I who waited 30 minutes to get on one of the fleet of buses to the parking lot. We made it back to the house at 3.00am.

Up at 5.00am the same morning was a sore one. Greg (bless his cotton socks) was up as well and had promised to knock on the door to ensure we were moving. He even had the pot of coffee made. Star.

Thomas and Fab were flat out on the sofa outside and the couch, respectively. No idea how they made it back nor at what time. They probably don’t either.

At the airport we were in the check-in line behind none other than…..guess…….yup, Mr and Mrs David Guetta. Perhaps the reason he played a truncated session was that he wanted some kip before his flight.

Unfortunately my frequent flyer power cards did not cut the mustard and we were told that we had to return to the soup queue. What are we going to do? I needed a miracle. Evidently.

New Caledonia is a true paradise. The beaches, sun, diving and people all stack up to a memorable place to stay. Helped by some local knowledge from and genially accommodated by Fab, Thomas, Greg et al it is a less expensive (still far from cheap) alternative to Fiji and Tahiti. Hopefully the environmental groundswell that also helps unite the peoples of the country continues to keep it unspoiled. We like it that way. It will be interesting to see how the approaching referendum on independence unfolds and how that will affect the country. Personally, I don’t think much would change.

We’ve already started looking at house prices…….now if only I can get those crap David Guetta melodies out of my head.