Month: September 2015

Noumea – Nickel mining protests and fresh food

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You know how I was saying that we wanted to find out more about nickel mining in New Caledonia? Well, we joined in a street demonstration! That’s me in blue. Ha, Mum would be so proud of me.

We ducked into Noumea for one night to stock up on food and beer. As we walked around town looking for the fishing tackle shop, we came across a few hundred Kanaks with placards, banners and a float with a man with a megaphone. Of course it was all in French, but it was to the good old protest rhythm of, “What do we want, la la la, when do we want it, NOW!”

We just stared at first, then waved and walked away. Then we thought, “When else in our lives will we get the chance to join in a Kanak protest?” So we set forth, with no idea what the protest was for.

We walked with them with the other handful of whiteys and got some odd and lovely smiles: The feeling was wonderful.

They were protesting at government plans to export nickel to China. The pamphlet we were handed was in French so that’s all we know. When walked for about ten minutes then had to leave. Actually, we didn’t, we could of stayed and scream and shouted and got international media attention (fantasy, fantasy) but fishing tackle and fresh veges were calling. I’m a tourist-activist only. Sigh.

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After eating mouldy cabbage and canned beetroot for a week, we desperately needed fresh food. Herbs, lemons, lettuce, spinach, fresh bread and cheese. Dean is in heaven with the four different cheeses we bought. And beer. He was out of beer. Actually that was the main reason for leaving the wops to head for the city.

Now we’re off to do something very special: A moonlit kayak tour and an overnight stay in a tent in the trees. This is at Blue River National Park. It’s the only expensive, touristy thing we’ve planned for and it’s been a nightmare trying to organise it without speaking French. So it could be a total disaster. Or not. My latest epiphany is that adventure is the effort you make regardless of the activity and the outcome.

 

New Caledonia – feral haircuts & a topsy-turvy culture

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‘Pebbles, Pebbles, this is Bobcat, do you copy, over?’
‘&*(%JJ *@))* !+:”>?’
‘Pebbles, this is Bobcat, can you please repeat, over.’

Just as he was answering the VHF call, Dean took a bite from a cracker. It broke in his mouth as he went to speak so he shoved the whole lot in, then answered the call. And other little, funny moments that I know we are going to remember.

New Caledonia is such a mix of stunning white beaches and aqua water, and a topsy-turvy culture. We’ll be catching up with friends of a friend in Noumea who works for the NZ High Commission – I’m looking forward to understanding all this more. We can’t of course read the newspapers because it’s in French. Everything is in French. This is not France. This is New Caledonia.

The landscape has been savaged by 100 years of nickel mining, used for stainless steel and other products. It’s very sad to see. The blood orange ridges of these mountains have been severed and their innards turned out, left grotesque. It’s killing the coral and kids swim in red muck. There are ‘private mining villages’ marked on our chart. How can anyone own a bloody village? It makes my blood boil. Apparently there are a handful of French families who own the mines around the country (and responsible for more than a few environmental disasters). Again, we know nothing.

We were pretty much told not to go down the East Coast (the ‘Forgotten Coast’) of the main island, Grande Terre, because of the destroyed landscape and lack of white sandy beaches (that postcard stuff really does get in the way of other more interesting experiences). Also, we were told that the trade winds tear up the East Coast and it can be hard to head south. All bad advice.

We loved the isolation and realness of the East Coast, even if its upset. But there’s room in adventure for fiercely being yourself, otherwise you end up as one of the not-really-happy people in the postcards.

And we did find a little piece of heaven – a gorgeous inlet just after the entrance to Baie Laugier. No boats, no people; just nature and us. I really needed this kind of space and it was nice for Dean and me to totally relax, just us. I got up at sunrise and took my beanbag to the front of the deck and fell in love again with birdsong and the waking of a day.

We moved further down the coast: At Thio we found a group of women playing Bingo in an outdoor shelter and bought some local umu-style food which we think was pork; then because adventure is so exhausting (really) we stayed two nights at Port Bouquet; then it was on to the mining town of Yate where we found a little shop run by the Chief’s wife. The friendly (white, French, from France) collage Principal showed us where it was and translated for us. I told the Chief’s wife that she smelt like lovely soap and she thought that was hilarious. Now we’re at Isle Quen and looking for walks. We met the caretakers of a private house here yesterday. They were from Malakula, in Vanuatu, and had tears in their eyes when we talked about Cyclone Pam.

I cut my own hair. Oh dear. It’s been six months and I was looking a bit feral, but now I just look stupid. My hairdresser is either going to laugh or go quiet when she sees me in November.  Thank god for hair bands.

Current favourite cocktail:  Chessie Lady – champagne, vodka and cointreau.

Up close with the savaging of this land, on Isle Quen just south of Prony. There's meant to be replanting going on but we never saw it, anywhere.

Up close with the savaging of this land, on Isle Quen just south of Prony. There’s meant to be replanting going on but we never saw it, anywhere.

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Always on look-out.

A little inlet on the right from Baie Laugier, our first stop on the East Coast. It reminded us the Marlborough Sounds.

The little inlet on the left from Baie Laugier, our first stop on the East Coast. It reminded us of the Marlborough Sounds.

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Our sunset walk…there’s Pebbles on her own.

Dean doing something practical. Me doing something not practical.

Dean doing something practical. Me doing something not practical.

Dean wanted to take this home for Laura or Cameron, but decided not to after discussions about shell ghosts and customs clearance.

Dean wanted to take this home for Laura or Cameron, but decided not to after discussions about shell ghosts and customs clearance.

We went up a river to find a town. We found lots of locals who didn't speak English but loved our translator on our mobile phone. I told them we loved them and that they were special. Couldn't find 'where is the supermarket'.

We went up a river to find a town. No town, but met lots of locals who didn’t speak English. They loved our French translator on my mobile phone – I told them, ‘I love you’ and ‘you are special’. The phone ap didn’t have useful things like, ‘where is the supermarket?’ or ‘we are lost, can you help?’ The petrol in the dinghy ran out a few metres from Pebbles.

Isle Kinde, just out from Port Bouquet. Oh wow. We spent the morning here. A group of birds wouldn't let us walk on the Western side - they must of been nesting. This was their home. We snorkelled and lay in the sun, feeling rather perfect.

Isle Kinde, just out from Port Bouquet. Oh wow. We spent the morning here. A group of birds wouldn’t let us walk on the Western side – they must of been nesting. This was their home. We snorkelled and lay in the sun, feeling rather perfect.

Fish count: 2! This tizzard will feed us fr 10 meals, thank you kindly. We were desperate and protein deficient. Dean resorted to buying disgusting looking frozen sausages and meat pattie things from a little shop. Probably dog.

Fish count: 2! This tizzard will feed us for 10 meals, thank you kindly. We were desperate and protein deficient. Dean resorted to buying disgusting looking frozen sausages and meat pattie things from a little shop. Probably dog.

Our adventure friends, Peter and Kim, in our dinghy going around Isle Nemou in Port Bouquet.

Our adventure friends, Peter and Kim, in our dinghy going around Isle Nemou in Port Bouquet.

It's still a dream, isn't it?

It’s still a dream, isn’t it?

Sailing New Caledonia – it took four countries to de-stress

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It’s Saturday night and the smoke from the food stalls is overwhelming. There’s a string band playing on the stage – they are dressed in cowboy hats and Indian type poncho’s. We’re not sure if the 30 or so brightly dressed women in front of the stage are in a beauty pageant or a fashion parade. They shyly walk to the front, do a bit of a flutter or spin and then slink back to the group. The DJ has a lot to say, in French.

It’s their Pahatr Festival and it’s for locals, not tourists, so it’s fabulous. They have these every year in the French Loyalty Islands – each year is at a different island. It’s Ouvea’s turn this year.

Guillaume Waminya started the festival and says, “I launched the process, initiated this event, in order to get the tribal village known and bring people together. I shook up habits a bit, energies had to be mobilised, but today everyone gets involved, the festival is known and people are beginning to find their feet.”

Now there’s a dozen young women dancing, shakin’ their hips and telling stories with their hands. One is big. She’s very big and having a great time.

We go to find food – big dishes of root veges and coconut, plus baguettes with chips in, and ginormous mud crabs. Everything is foreign and we don’t speak French so no one knows what the hell we are saying – it’s funny and awkward and connecting.

We’re in Ouvea, the most northern of the French Loyalty islands. It’s so French. We weren’t expecting that. It’s like their culture has been misplaced. There’s huge political unrest, with the Kanaks being oppressed for so long. They’re working on it.

The sail here from Lifou was very lumpy. Dean loved it. I spewed. I’m still screaming to get the sails bought in. But we get over things quicker. Progress!

And I finally feel the absence of stress. That’s taken five months. I’m yet to have the deep relaxation that comes from isolation but soon we’ll head to the woop woops again, hopefully.

I’ve just marked this in our calendar – the first All Blacks game on he 21st, NZ time. How very exciting.

Back to turtles, white sand and adventure.

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Yip.

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Run crabs run!

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Dean bought my birthday present here, a cute little egg basket. I love it. It holds 14 eggs and my mission is to make sure that none of them smashes in 30 knots.

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Peter and Kim from Take Two and the awesome adventure family from Nika.

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The wee town of St Josephs, northern Ouvea, is gorgeous. We wandered around and a local asked us in for coffee. We went into his Mum’s house, a traditional one. She then showed us her little garden. We have no idea what she said but we all smiled and laughed. She had very soft hands.

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This is the first time I’ve seen Dean in a church. In 10 years.

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Our local guides around the town – one had three legs.

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Every building was fascinating.

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Notice board outside the shop. Half these notices are for Bingo.

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After cyclone-torn Vanuatu, we’re enjoying pretty things.

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Che Guevara is often seen with the indigenous Kanak flag.

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This is where the chief lives.

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Postcard.

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We went on a shark tour next to a tabu island. It was a gorgeous walk, snorkel and local fishing demonstration, all in French. One lovely French guy did some translation for us: In the estuary was a shark nursery. Once the eggs are hatched they swim to the sea but get eaten by barracuda. Sharks are like gods to the Kanaks and they’ve asked authorities if they can kill the barracuda. Not allowed.

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Antoine, our local guide. That’s me in full snorkelling gear. We don’t have a photo of the two metre lemon shark we saw while snorkelling. I took one look and swam the other way. Dean went in for a closer look.

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A turtle hole. We jumped in and swam in it. Apparently the chief puts the turtles in so he can then eat them. Hearing that kind of ruined it for me.

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These French students have just been volunteering in Fiji on a school project. They were doing health checks in the villages and were told that in five years, 50% of Fijians will have diabetes. These girls “paid much money” to volunteer there.

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After we’d all jumped in, Dean went looking for a higher place to jump.

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That’s Pebbles and Take Two in the distance.

 

 

 

 

Tanna Island – More than one volcanic eruption

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Really? Perching on the edge of an active, exploding volcano, where the thunderous sound alone is enough to send you screaming back to safety?

I knew that I’d be overcoming fear when it came to sailing on this adventure, but not every day in every way! Again, we had a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

We saw the inside of the earth explode.

Tanna Island was one of the worst hit by Cyclone Pam. They’re rebuilding but they were without medical support for a long time. The visitor centre at the bottom of the volcano was demolished.

The people were lovely yet quiet.

We want to come back here to see the rest of the island. There’s the fascinating John Frum ‘cult’ – locals who worship an American who perhaps once bought supplies.  Some of the other boats tried to visit their festival night but almost killed themselves in their dinghy getting round to the village.

Leaving here, hurt.

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Our guide didn’t have shoes or a headlamp. I gave him mine but without batteries, what’s the point? That’s what we’ve seen the Chinese do…give free solar panels to villages (for fishing rights?) but leave them unable to fix the panels or afford to replace the batteries. Junk.

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Dean loved the insane ride up to the volcano. I had my eyes closed a lot.

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This tree defied the cyclone. That’s me at the bottom. I walked around it, holding on to it’s hanging branches and whispered, “It must of been scary. I hope you’ll be okay next time too.”

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The make-shift visitor centre.

 

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Some of the rock on the way up the volcano. I thought it looked like gluten and dairy free carob muffins.

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Yep.

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Safely back at the bashed-up ‘Yacht Club’ at Port Resolution for a beer. The next day they were starting to rebuild the bungalows next to the Club. We really wanted to stay and help build, but I had my own little volcano erupting – a ruddy huge coldsore! Adventure was wearing me down. So while people needed our help I spent two days watching TV episodes of Private Practice. Crappy, crappy guilt.

 

A waterfall on Anatom Island, Vanuatu (and walking the devastation of Cyclone Pam)

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No one died on Aneityum Island after the cyclone. They say they are the only island where this happened – because they had a plan.

You could see what destruction the village and villages had to cope with. Many buildings remained unbuilt but village life goes on. They have amazing resilience. The head of the tourism committee there, Kenneth, told us that they are proud of natural disaster plan. They have rules – no drinking water for three days after; work together; mainly, stick to the rules.

They’ve gone back to building their houses pre-missionary days. They last longer. They use traditional ways of food preserving food which includes making a kind of cheese from scraped out and minced green bananas that lasts three or four years. They suck water from stone baked sugar cane.

We went on a “Yes, very easy, four hour return walk” to a waterfall with Kim and Peter, and an Australian researcher visiting the village. This turned out to be a seven hour walk that was really a bush bash and river boulder treacherous climb, returning in the dark. Dean and I were in our element – all those Tararua tramps. About half way through I did say, “I’ve had enough now” but we still had an hour to go.

We were the first people to do the trip to the waterfall since the Cyclone. The tracks weren’t really there. Nature was broken but growing back.

We had two guides – one who went ahead and cut the track or chose the less dangerous route, the other who stayed with us. They both wore bare feet and didn’t take any lunch.
The waterfall was the tallest I’d ever seen. Hennie, one of our guides, jumped straight in with her clothes on, looked up to the top and bashed the water a few times with her fists. She had the best laugh.

The end of the walk back ended up being at dusk through the village. Some little kids had just had a wash in the river and were wrapped in towels. They ran after us then hid, squealing. “Bye bye,” they shrieked. We stood still and watched them jump up in different places like rabbits in a field. We laughed and beamed. I knew I’d remember this moment.

That night we had too much red wine, homemade fish and chips and crashed, a little scratched and bruised, but wonderfully exhausted.

The next day we found out that we could have been taken to the wrong waterfall. We possibly went to the bigger waterfall in the middle of the island! I don’t think their outdoor safety requirements are quite the same as New Zealand.

The day we left I wanted to talk to Kenneth more about what they are doing in the tourism space. But there was a big meeting on to sort out some land disputes. We were told it could go on for a couple of hours or a couple of weeks. Island time.

We’ll be back here in the future.

Waiting for our guide outside the community building.

Waiting for our guide outside the community building.

What the local kids draw in the sand.

What the local kids draw in the sand.

 

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The government boat that supplies water to some outer island village schools. The next day its propeller dropped off.

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A teenager’s roost.

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Dean drinking carva. Muddy dish water. Makes lips go numb.

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We love the local speak.

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Traditional, traditional, traditional.

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John the Australian was here researching his missionary ancestors. He had a lot to say about how great white people are.

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Lots of Unicef tents all over Vanuatu. Some empty and flapping in the breeze.

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Zena bubby doggy

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After four hours on our two hour walk to get there, the waterfall!