What It Was Like To Go To New Caledonia

Ok Brian, that's another country I've never heard of. Tell me all about it.

05-06/2016 When I hand over my passport at customs:

“American?! Are you sure?? No English here.”

“I’ll be alright, its all good.” I say with a cheerful nod.

“You’re the second American I’ve seen all year. Bienvenue au Nouvelle-Calédonie...” with a slight shake of the officers head, giving me an amusing look as he hands back my passport.

New Caledonia is a collection of islands surrounded by reefs and lagoons in the South Pacific. North and East, from New Zealand and Australia. There are plants and wildlife endemic to the region. It is a French Territory with a hard history and a local population that dreams of Independence. I first got the idea to visit this country while in New Zealand. I was at a kale farm outside of Invercargill a few months prior. There was a French couple we worked with who showed me pictures and I was hooked instantly. Flying in, the view from the plane gives me King Kong vibes.

Can you see him?

I step out of the airport to a blast of heat and humidity. All the signs are in French. I get on the bus, fumbling with the CFP Franc and how much to pay the bus driver. It’s around a 45min drive to the capital Nouméa. As we head south to my right I can see snippets of light turquoise blue water in-between bright green jungle. To my left the mountains rise sharply. There’s a few stops along the way and I get my first look at the local Kanak people. Of Melanesian descent, the women wear brightly colored sundresses. Some of the men have dreads and Rastafarian aesthetics. I’ll learn more about them in the next weeks.

We stop in Centre-Ville, a packed grid with colonial architecture. I walk through the downtown and come to the square called Place de la Marne. The trees provide nice shade from the sun. I’m already dripping in sweat. I’ll average three cold showers a day while here. I hope to become more acclimated later. I’m staying at one of the few hostels in the city called Auberge De Jeunesse de Nouméa. It sits on a hill above the town with a view of the Cathedral and port. There’s a steep set of staircases that starts from the center and goes up the hill. When I get there its all French people and I use Google Translate to reserve some days. They point out a sign stating that parts of downtown can be dangerous at night and to not use the stairs due to robbery. I’ll see for myself.

Centre-Ville

Walking around, I try poulet at Cafe Austerlitz. Easy street food really. I’ll look for a proper restaurant later. Further down by the waterfront, there’s shops full of all the French delicacies you could ever wish for. I do some shopping, using hand charades to buy a phone charger, and visit an outdoor store where I buy a Quechua camping pot. This pot ends up traveling everywhere with me and I still have it to this day. On the other side of Centre-Ville on the main road you’ll see a memorial for those who served France in the World Wars. I explore the City Market and then that’s when I see it…across the parking lot stands tall the golden McDonald’s arch! Ha, I didn’t think I would come upon one of those here. Directly across the street is a WWII memorial for the Americans. Go figure. I stop for some Wi-Fi at the Bibliotheque Bernheim. This old colonial building has charm and is a part of the historical and cultural heritage of Nouméa. While browsing the aisles I come across a book detailing travel throughout Kyrgyzstan. The pictures plant the seed in my mind that I have to visit that country someday. I make it there over a year later…

Back at the square, I relax on a bench as sunset begins. A rasta comes up to me and starts a conversation. We try to communicate through the language barrier, but I get the feeling that he is drunk. His eyes are bloodshot, and he stands too close to me. After a brief silence he reaches out and grabs my glasses. I jerk away and say, “Bro you’re in my personal space!” He steps back and blinks his eyes rapidly several times and then just walks away without a word. As things get dark all the shops and stores here in the center close. Most of them also have bars or additional fencing to protect their business. Actually, it kind of reminded me of the south side in Chicago. The streets quickly become quiet and empty. Perhaps this is what the hostel was referring to.

There’s a party at the hostel. Drinks and tobacco smoke fill the outdoor lounge. I play some cards while listening to various French conversations, but not really any talks in English. I feel tired from this busy first day so before it gets too late I go into the TV lounge. It’s empty, and I remember seeing a cartoon poster of the Titanic sinking with people in the water taking pictures and selfies of the ship. Another cold shower but its near pointless as I lay in my bed soaked throughout the night.

But a cold beer in this heat? Worth it.

Its Sunday, so I decide to check out mass at the Saint-Joseph Cathedral. Interesting to just observe the people around me. The morning breeze is immaculate, blowing in slightly from the doors. The church may not be as big as those in Europe, but its as beautiful as any. Of course I don’t understand what the pastor is saying during his sermon, but its alright. I walk to the waterfront and follow the road. There are various bays such as Baie des Citrons and Anse Vata. The neighborhoods here look more like French transplants. Not a bad location for retiring. New Caledonia to me feels like the kind of place if you want to get away from it all. I end up at the movie theater and watch Captain America: Civil War. Was pretty funny listening to Steve and Tony speak dubbed French.

Next day I buy a ticket for the ferry to Île des Pins. The island is known for incredible beaches, water, and a plethora of narrow, column like pine trees. It takes a few hours to arrive. You pass many small islands with some colorful red geology. The sea is calm and I can’t help but sit outside and gaze at the views. We arrive close to the small village of Kuto. There’s a couple bays here and just wow. Amazing beach and water. I walk to the Camping Loulou et Lhelene. It has a really nice grassy area under the trees right along beach. I couldn’t ask for more. After I set up my tent I just have to lay on the beach. The sound of gentle waves perfect for relaxing.

Let me know if any of you do this: Sometimes I come across a song by complete random chance, spanning all genres, that somehow makes me fantasize about traveling to a certain place. Like some kind of pull. I associate the song with the location and wonder what it would feel like to make it happen. For the beaches here, A Walk by Tycho really fits the setting.

This phenomenon has happened to me many times, and has called me to places all around the world. Could you call it spirituality? A purposeful journey? Some of these songs were stuck in my mind for over a decade before finally coming true. After I made these “pulls” become reality, I’d feel nothing but fulfillment, even glory….stick around to find out my songs that are tied to a special place, because I’ll share them all with you as I write future articles.

During the night, I’m woken up suddenly by a thump on my tent. Like something heavy smacked against it. I see something causing an indent above me so I get up and open the zipper. When I poke my head outside my heart gets a hard jolt as I’m staring face to face with a giant grasshopper! Its antennae briefly grazing my nose. I’ve never seen an insect so large before. Later I hear that supposedly the reason why all these coconuts are full of holes, is because these grasshoppers burrow into them. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I don’t want to find out if their jaws are that powerful.

King Kong Grasshopper

In the morning, I rent a bicycle and prepare to ride to Vao. As I’m getting ready a dog comes up to me. He appears feral but perhaps he’s the campgrounds dog. He seems compelled to follow me into town. The road is narrow and he runs alongside me, every car that passes by he has the obsession of trying to chase and bite the wheels. I call out to him because I don’t want him to get run over, but I don’t even know the dogs name and he doesn’t listen anyways. The road has a few slight hills with great views of the turquoise reefs beyond. I’m just riding and doing my own thing but the dog does not stop for a rest. Now I feel compelled to get him some water and food. I come into the village and walk down the main road. I take a break at the Notre-Dame church. It’s nestled between a few schools. I watch a man walk across the school grounds with a machete, past children. Perhaps he had finished cutting coconuts. Good luck trying to walk onto a US school with that. But here however, its different. Things feel safe. Serene. I finish my ride at the Stade Charles de Gaulle and the beach. The turquoise bay in Vao is so expansive and bright it almost hurts the eyes to gaze at it. There’s some places here and by Oro where you can take a traditional boat tour out into the bay. On the way back I grab a few things from the market to give to my companion. We ride back and upon arrival to the campground he runs off and disappears. See you later.

The tallest mountain on Île de Pins is called Pic Nga at around 260 meters. About an hour to hike up from the campground. The trail is easy to follow. Towards the top it can be steep and the gravel loose. I have the summit to myself. You get great views across the island and various bays.

I jump in the island transport van and head to Oro Bay. On one side you have a resort, on the other a campground. They hook me up with some Escargot. Interesting to try, but I wouldn't go out of my way to have it again.

From the campground you can walk along the river bed until you get to the Oro natural pool. A true wonder, its pristine water is lined with the iconic pine trees. Its a sight to beyond. Some of the best blue water I’ve seen. Across the rocks is the ocean. I go swimming and there’s an array of fish and coral.

After another chill day I get back on the ferry to the city. I want to go north to do some hiking in the highlands. I was thinking of going up Mont Panie, the tallest mountain in New Caledonia. I saw that there is a bus to the village of Hienghene, and from there I could make arrangements for the hike. It's around 7hrs to get up there. The bus leaves in the morning. As soon as we’re out of town the driver starts blasting P.I.M.P by 50 Cent. Head banging and all. But then he just kept playing it. On repeat. For the first 2 hours. He was smiling and jamming the whole time though. The Kanak men greet each other in passing by lifting their index finger. Nothing more, nothing less. I watch the driver’s pointer get a workout as we pass groups of guys sitting alongside the road. All of them lifting their finger upwards in response. The steel drum beat used in that song echoing into the jungle.

At Pouembout the road turns east to cross the mountains. The forest opens up and parts of the highlands are covered in grassland. These areas are more local as well. Back in the day it was very tribal. Some roads are private. It doesn’t take long to cross to the other side before heading north. Its quiet up here, Hienghene is very small. The bus drops me at the tourism office. After translating my intentions to hike the mountain, they tell me that the area is now protected and the trail closed. The change happened recently because from what I read it seemed open. “Well now what?”, I ask myself. It’s late afternoon and I didn’t book any accommodation. I noticed before entering the village a sign saying there was a campground just a couple km’s south. Guess I’ll head there. I walk to the road and try my luck hitchhiking. A quick minute later and the very first car that appears stops to pick me up. Two young guys from Paris. I tell them about the campground and we head out. I try to speak the basic French I know, but their English is alright so we make good small talk.

“You’re from Chicago? Wow very far from home.”

“Ya and you’re from Paris, that’s very far too.”

“Touché.”

The Highlands

After I check in and set up my tent, I sit at a picnic table and prepare a dinner of lentils and ramen with an extra veggie or beef cube. It’s a common hiking/camping staple for me. I don’t mind eating it days in a row. Easy to pack, takes less space, and provides many portions. As sunset kicks in many people come back from a snorkeling tour. Two girls come to the table, Anso and Céline, from Belgium and France. Their English is good. It’s been over a week since I last had a fluid conversation with someone. None of the Kanak speak English, so it has been a hurdle. They are quite surprised that I made it out here all alone without a car or knowledge of the language. I wonder if they are thinking wtf. We talk about life and travel. Anso has a rental car and a few more places she wants to drive to. I ask if I can join. She said she’s leaving in the morning so it’s up to me. Sounds good.

As we get ready to leave, we hear about this cultural event at a Kanak tribe happening soon. So, we go head out back across the highlands. On our way we get a flat tire. The rental has everything so lucky for us it doesn’t take long before we’re off and rolling again. I don’t recall where we had to go to get a replacement. Perhaps Bourail. Somewhere around here was the cultural event so we head back up into the mountains for the visit. When we get there it’s like an open house. There are quite a few tourists here as well. Tragically, I can’t find some of the pictures I took of the people. First, we were shown traditional basket weaving with leaves. Next the Chief offers to take us on a paid tour of some places in the village and its history. Anso translates for me what he’s saying. Apparently, we and all the other tourists got scammed and he’s just talking random things. Oh well, maybe they really needed the money. I did hear though that when the French Missionaries first arrived, there was a strict process for greeting the Chief with gifts, and it was common many of them were killed. Throughout the years there was war, penal colonies and slave labor. The scars of history have yet to fully heal, though presently with economic ties to Europe the overall quality of life is good. Locals want a referendum and believe a plan for independence and prosperity is achievable. We meet a guy named Jean. Cool dude. He ends up traveling with us. Him and Anso later get together and start a family years later. What a story! The tribe was preparing a traditional meal called Bunia. Chicken cooked over the embers. It was pretty good, but I did not expect what would happen next…

We end up at a campground/hostel in Poe. Nice hang out area with a bar and billiards. Again, more questions from other Frenchmen “You’re American? What are you doing here?” Haha, “Just traveling man.” At the hostel I remember seeing a sign warning us about swimming because a girl had been killed by a Tiger Shark. A rough way to go. Once we settle in for the night, I can’t sleep due to building pressure in my bowels. There is some strong cramping in my gut. Uh oh I thought, must have been the bunia. I rush to the bathroom and evacuate my entire inner self. I didn’t think the body was even capable of pushing out so much. Hours on the toilet later, I’m feeling pretty bad. Terrible headache and hot neck. I know the sound of my sickness was keeping Jean and Anso awake. It felt embarrassing at first, but they understood. It happens. So far in all of my travels this was the only time I’ve gotten sick or poisoned from the food. The terrible evacuation continues intermittingly into the next day.

Poe

Miraculously, after a full day of rest I recover quickly. We meet up with Céline and the four of us go hiking along the mountain ridge accompanied with great views of the lagoon that surrounds the whole island. So now it’s time to return the rental car in Nouméa. I go back to the hostel and we plan on meeting up for a drink in Anse Vata later.

Jean, Céline, me, and Anso

I meet an Aussie girl named Li. She also has been having her own language barrier adventures. There is a cultural center on the other side of town, so we take the bus and go check it out. We witness a traditional dance and inside its a museum showing the way people lived here throughout time.

Tjibaou Cultural Centre

Li heads back to Australia. About 6 months later when I’m in Melbourne we meet up and she shows me around. A future article. I meet the others for a drink and after, tell them all “See you later”.

Early next morning is the bus back to the airport. When I’m checking in the lady at the counter asks me where I’m going.

“Oh I’m going to Mongolia!”

“Quoi??”

“Mongolie!”

I see her reading my flight itinerary. She whispers the names of the layovers. “Nouméa, Sydney, Beijing…Ulaan…baatar….Ulaanbaatar!” The look she gave me was hilarious. The best wtf look I’d seen in awhile. I guess that’s not a common flight.

Stick around for when I begin writing about the Mongolia chapter. It’ll be a long one. The most profound country and travel experience I’ve had. Changed many things mentally for me.

À plus tard!