Sunday 31 July 2011

Sunday 31st July


What a lovely holiday I am having…apart from…COMPUTERSTRESS!!

Pete says, “This is not a holiday, this is YOUR LIFE!!”


Well no; my life does not usually consist of balmy tropical islands parading before me one by one; volcanoes erupting; drinkies on deck; people to meet places to go by the dozen.

We arrived in Port Vila (capital of Vanuatu) at 4pm yesterday after a very lively bit of sailing. We had both sails up (head and main,) and at times we got up to 15 knots – wee hee!! That is FAST! But it was also very difficult in that steering the boat was very strenuous, to put it mildly. Pete did most of the work (are you surprised??) but I put in as valiant an effort as I could. Exhausted!!


Our night at Erromango was very pleasant. We tucked up in bed and were fast in snoozyland by…ahem…8.30… In the middle of the night I heard voices - HELLO HELLO!!! I got up and saw lights – OH NO! how terrifying! (It turned out to be all of 9pm…) I said to Pete, in a quavering voice, “We have visitors!” He got up in his nice little pyjama shorts, and strode up on deck to be The Man. And there, floating on the calm clear water was a cute little dugout canoe, with two local boys, offering us – two small but beautiful crayfish… They didn’t want to slaughter us in our bed at all… We asked what we could trade for these delicacies – well there’s no such thing as a free lunch, is there? Umm…whatever… I rootled around in our cupboards and came up with a tin of spaghetti sauce and a fresh new jar of peanut butter. Fair exchange!! Earlier on (before snoozeytime) we had had a visit from another bright-eyed local boy with a big basket of fresh veggies for us. We “gave” him our last few cups of rice and some…well I have completely forgotten, but some…something… Oh yes, some UMT milk. He told us he was building a “yacht club” in Dillon Bay – very sensibly, he had worked out that sailors on their way from Port Resolution (Tanna) to Port Vila (Efate) might need to stop overnight for Rest And Recreation. So far so good…a bit of building is evident but…nothing as flash (???) as Port Resolution is on the boil yet. The beach at Dillon Bay is very beautiful but totally rocky; big round stones, steeply sloping to the calm clear water.


OK – into Port Vila!! At last…and there to meet and greet us was - a whale! I spotted it first - most unusual, it is always Hawkeye Headlam who spots these wonders of nature… No marina…I was devastated; I do love a marina… But it is all very beautiful, a dear little town, all wet and puddled and eccentric.


We got a very good anchorage, just across from the main drag, not far from Island Claws, a big fishing boat – isn’t that a great name?? We were very keen to find Leah (my niece) and Mark (her boyfriend). But…oh dear and oh no…my computer decided it would not accept internet connections…. My something or another is turned off and inoperable…I am very stressed by all of this and have been doing lots of DEEP BREATHING. Pete has been very kind and patient. His computer is more than receptive to cyberwaves… He managed to convert files from my computer to his and I have posted some sort of blog for the last many days… but it won’t let me look at my gmail… (breathe…breathe…)


Last night we wandered along and found the Port Vila Yacht Club (a slight bit more sophis than the Erromango or Port Resolution Yacht Clubs…) We listened to a very mellow trio of local lads singing very harmoniously for the dinner crowd, and met a Dutch engineer (Fred) from Haarlem, who lives and works here, living on his very big (61’) yacht, Drydock. He was very Mick Jagger in appearance…and full of information. On his advice, we looked out for the sailpast the following morning – how beautiful it was! About a dozen yachts of various sizes, all rigged out with a panoply of sails, cruising right around the bay and right past us, some with music, some with dancing, some with both. And one with Fred! It is still Independence Day celebrations…speeches, music, performances day and night! (And yes I did find it hard to sleep…Pete, however, was totally in Sleepyboboboland, bless him…)


We got up and ate some of our Erromango pawpaw (thank you Jif William and Mrs Martha Mete!) and set off in the tender to tie up at the wharf. I had photos of Leah and Mark – “Ah yes, this man is from Melé,” was the unanimous cry. “We will take you to his village!” We declined these offers and trudged along, getting wetter by the minute – a very rainy place, Port Vila! I was trying to buy new sandals – my friend Meriloy had assured me I would find Birkenstock-type sandals by the dozen. Well I did…but the dreamy girl in The (grandly named) Shoe Store said, “Oh no, not in your size…” and resumed her dreamy posture leaning against the wall. “Would you like them in size 41? Oh no…well I suppose if you wear 37/38 then 41 will not really fit…”


We ended up at a nice sort of restaurant with a view over the main street and the Grand Casino, where we had lamb wrap (Pete) and club sandwich (me.) By the time we got back to the tender we had made contact, more or less, with Mark (from Melé!) and Leah (from Launceston!). Pete picked them up at about 4.00 and we gave them sumptuous cups of tea – well we have hardly anything left on board… My sister Monique, mother of Beautiful Leah, is arriving at midnight tonight and we are going to meet up and kick up our heels tomorrow…


Sunday 31st July



We spent the entire morning trying to fix the stiff steering. Pete went down into the engine holds and got very hot and …ummmm…bothered, and I sat at the wheel obeying instructions – turn the wheel PORT, I mean STARBOARD, no PORT, MORE, no STOP, now STARBOARD. Fun Fun Fun. Eventually we were rescued by a phone call from Monique after lunchtime – they were ready to meet us – Leah, Mark, Monique. And there on the dock, a bonus – Dara, with baby Justin!! ) Dara = Monique’s Numbawan Daughter, sister of Leah, niece of…well, me! I hadn’t met Justin, not many weeks old, so what bliss it was, to be able to hand him from one to another through the afternoon. So wonderful to meet the latest member of the family, and to see Dara so confident and competent.


We sat around for a while at La Tentation, then went to a very flash supermarket, full of everything we could ever want - Sultana Bran – tick! Whole egg mayonnaise – tick! Then we crammed into the big twincab ute and found our way to the house where Mark and Leah are living, on a hill overlooking a golf course, a lagoon, a beautiful bay, a lovely little island. There is no such thing as street addresses; we would never have found this house had we gone hunting for Mark and Leah by ourselves. It is up a steep concrete drive off another steep concrete drive, hidden in thick lush greenery… The house is wonderful, big and cool and spacious…and very empty! They have two big couches and a few beds. Apparently it is very hard, and expensive, to get furniture in Vila. We were quite happy; we all had somewhere to sit, and some delicacies from the deli section of Au Bon Marché supermarket. And some G & T; who cared if it was still raining??


Monday 1st August



This is a very damp and rainy island! We had a spurt of sunshine this morning and got quite warm and thrilled but…soon there was rain again. I am, mind you, going to need a lot of rain because…I got my hair cut again… Yes what was I thinking?? It grows very rapidly, in all the humidity, and it had just gone past optimum length. I managed to snavel an hour or so away from family and friends and went to Head Hunter, as posh a salon as Port Vila can muster. I was given star treatment – lots of shampoo and massage and then a session with a lovely young coiffeur from the Philippines. I said, very clearly, that I just wanted – a bit of a trim…same as it is now only a BIT shorter. He snipped away delicately and lulled me into a sort of trance from which I slowly emerged to find he was still snipping away…and had snipped all of my fringe off to a startling and horrible shortness…I am sure he has done a great job; he was very skillful. But… I hate it!! I have taken myself off to a salubrious little toilet area at the Baywatch Restaurant, where I am waiting for my lost family & friends, and I have plastered my hair with water and rammed my Tilley hat down on top of the whole damp horror. I suppose one good thing is…it was all very (and surprisingly) cheap; I think the Vanuatu flag I bought for 2XS earlier on cost more… (Dennis’s the coiffeur’s last words to me were…sorry about your fringe…)


Leah and Mark’s shop is called Island Princess. It is just lovely, all clean and bright and full of objets… There are dozens of fairly tatty tourist shops and Chinese shops; I think expats living in Vila must find Island Princess to be a very pleasant little oasis and a great source of gifts.


I am sure you want to know how the local ladies dress. They wear smocks! But not the same as the New Caledonian ladies. In NC the dresses are made of thick cotton or nylon and are quite simple. In Vanuatu they are made of more floaty (Pete’s mum might even say diaphanous…) material and they are much more elaborate. (Monique says no they are made of very stuffy nylon - she knows this from bitter experience, having had to wear a fluoro smock to church once...) Lots of puffing around the sleeve area, and lots of floating panels. The colours seem a bit more muted as well, although his morning I did see a very large lady in bright yellow with orange and red flowers and many furbelows drifting from her ample form.


Leah and Mark have kept us most entertained with stories of Life in Port Vila. Recently the government decided that it would be much easier to check on tax fraud of every single business, large and small, had a cash register. And failure to have a cash register would incur a fine of something equivalent to $100,000. So ofcourse there was a panic buy-out…there were only 18 machines available in the whole of Port Vila! (They hadn’t thought to warn the supplier that there would be a mightily increased demand…)


The government has also, bizarrely, decided to impose very hefty fines on business which sell cigarettes individually rather than by the packet. Why??


Mark and Leah have a big 4WD ute, which they dutifully registered and insured. Imagine their surprise when they were apprehended by the police on their way back from the airport – “Where are your registration papers?” They handed them over with great confidence only to be told that their rego had expired… They didn’t realize that in Vanuatu rego lasts for a calendar year; if, for example, you pay your full amount on 30th December, you are registered for one whole day, not one whole year… Oh oops! So there were poor Mark and Leah, un-registered…and the police took their car away! “Out you hop!” and they were stranded! They got a ride back to town and tried to claim their car. “Oh no it has to have a roadworthy check before you can register it…” Oh deary me…a whole lot of palaver before they could actually get hold of the car and actually take it for its roadworthy check… This, in the end, consisted of: a ride over a speedbump and a check of the windscreen wipers…

Saturday 30 July 2011

Well my last blogpost cut off unexpectedly...here is the rest, I hope...
And - we have found Mark and Leah and all is well!

… They all had scopatches but…they apparently didn’t work for some of the benighted crew… They started ahead of us on the 3 hour walk because we had to go back to 2XS and get equipped for the expedition – warm clothes for the top of the mountain, head torches, bottle of water etc etc.
It was a most beautiful walk, through the thick lush forest. Magic, as Vin Patel would surely have said. We met lots of people along the way, walking to and from the soccer ground where celebrations were taking place for Independence Day. Most of the players play in bare feet, and very nifty and vigorous they are! We were very pleased with ourselves because we overtook the New Zealanders (YES!) and we got to the top in less than the three hours we had expected. But…it was a long hard walk to the top… Lots of people passed us, from resorts, in comfy 4WD vehicles as we trudged our way up from sea level to the rim of the volcano. The guide books say Yasur is the most accessible active volcano in the world, and indeed, the cars parked at the bottom of the track, and it was only a 10 minute walk up the hill from there. Amazing!
I don’t think I can do justice to the experience. It was absolutely breathtaking, terrifying, wonderful. We met up with some of our young friends from Infinity, who were equally enthralled and fascinated. The volcano roared and rumbled and bellowed and produced the most spectacular fireworks imaginable, right over our heads. We stayed until it was nearly dark; it was very cold there, and started to rain, so we tore ourselves away from the spectacle and walked back down to the car park. Stanley wasn’t there yet so Pete and I walked back down the track for about an hour until he caught up with us. This was a strategic error; we should have kept on walking. The ride back, wedged into a twin-cab ute tray, was excruciating. There were ten of us jolting along together with nothing to hold on to… the man next to me, one of the nicer new Zealanders, was pleasant and polite and I really didn’t want to say to him, “Ummm…is that knife in your pocket…” He had some sort of large Leatherman system on his hip and it dug mercilessly into my thigh… I think I am branded for life…
All whingeing aside…it was one of the most extraordinary things I ever expect to see, Mighty Yasur!!
28th July 2011
We left Port Resolution, which was starting to feel like home, at 6am and had a beautiful cruise to the next island, Erromango. It is – are you surprised – just beautiful, gorgeous forest right down to the water’s edge. Erromango is much less populated than Tanna – between 1000 and 1500; Tanna has ten times that number. We could see mobile phone towers on the hills so I optimistically took my computer into the village…maybe there would be WiFi!! Well…there wasn’t…
But it was a lovely little village, with a fresh water river, children playing, women washing clothes on the rocks, others fishing. And everyone wreathed in smiles of delight at our arrival… One of the men, Frank, asked if he could come to Port Vila with us tomorrow, with a few buckets of wood. (??) Ofcourse we said yes. We will see if he clambers aboard at 6pm…
We were happy to meet the former chief (Jif) on the island, William Mete, and his wife, Martha, who plied us with bananas and pawpaw and a big root vegetable which I am sure will take all the gas on the boat to cook… They have a little guesthouse behind their own little house, and showed us very proudly.
Friday 29th July
(Frank the hitchhiker didn’t show at 6am…)
We have arrived – finally – in Port Vila. All very pretty but…no marina (sob) and I can’t get internet connection (double sob…)
Also I can’t find Leah (my niece) or Mark (her boyfriend (sigh sigh…)
Wednesday 20th July
I think I managed to get many pages posted from the “town hall” (mairie) steps in Maré. Not comfy…but I discovered that when push comes to shove, my Tilley hat can be used as a mousepad… There was a sort of café, well a place where you could buy a drink, in a shed, just next to the mairie so I went and bought a coffee for Pete and me, to keep us in good cheer on the unyielding concrete steps. Oh goody…they gave me two big round cups (not polystyrene, which was a blessing,) and filled them with tepid water from a thermos. Then they gave me a big tin of Nescafé and a plastic spoon… I took Pete’s coffee to him with a flourish and said, “You will love this!” (He didn’t…)
We weren’t entirely left to our own devices, in our little WiFi area. Various people would come and sit companionably near us, just chillin’ out, which was fine. But some of them wanted to talk a lot… A tall thin man, slightly nervy, was particularly friendly, so I asked him about Maré. He said the population is just over 1,000 and that there are 11 villages, most of them with their own little local school. I asked if he has a boat, and he said, very proudly, “Oh no, I have A CAR. We all go everywhere in cars!” I asked why – the water is so beautiful, and not storm-tossed or cold. We have been constantly mystified by how few local people take to the water, to swim, fish or to zip around in a tinny. “Well,” he said, “a boat costs too much money.” When I said that in fact a boat would cost nowhere near as much as a car, and that fuel would hardly cost anything, for a tinny, he had to agree.
But I don’t think money is a problem, in New Caledonia. Nobody is hungry; most people are plump and well-fed. They go to the local OPT (the mail centre, where I foolishly tried to buy stamps in Noumea) and line up with little books, which are stamped and signed and then they are given quite a big wad of francs. I know this because I spent a very hot and nasty half hour in the very small humid OPT office in Maré, which, unusually, was in fact the one and only place on the island where one could buy stamps and post mail. There were about 8 people there with me, four ahead in the queue, four behind, and it all got very smelly in there. Each transaction took a very long time; each person wanted to chat and argue with the postmaster, who fortunately was a very stern and distant man, not encouraging of this behaviour.
We had planned to go to the north of Maré, to what looked like a sheltered anchorage and a good place to take off for Lifou the next day. But when we got there the wind had changed and we would have had to anchor far too close to a very sharp and pointy bit of coastline. (By the way – these islands – there are three Loyalty Islands, running along the north coast of New Caledonia – Maré, Lifou and Ouvéa. Apparently [info from Bill on Lord Howe Island] the latter, and smallest, island is the most fascinating, but we won’t be able to go there - we really aren’t supposed to be in New Caledonia any more; on Wednesday we got our clearance papers stamped to leave on Friday and we had until Monday to get out of the country…)
So…there was no choice but to press on to Lifou… It was a beautiful trip, not too rough, with a gorgeous sunset followed by a stunningly starry sky. Added to that, at dusk we were joined by a large pod of very lively dolphins, who leapt and twirled around us, clearing the water by a metre or more. They stayed with us for ages and made me very happy. Well NEARLY made me very happy… I don’t cope all that well with sailing in the dark… I wasn’t prepared and drugged-up because we were only supposed to be going to a nearby anchorage, so poor Pete had the great pleasure of having me droop miserably around the deck. Again!! It wasn’t too bad; no feeding the fish over the back of the boat. And I was able to rouse myself and go down below to cook up a reasonably appetising pot of fried rice.
When it is dark we always put our harnesses on and hook ourselves to various bits of strong strapping whenever we are on deck. Pete was very puzzled because he couldn’t find our lanyards (the essential bit of strap which connects the harness to the lifelines.) This turned out to be a blessing because his search took him to some unexpected places…and he discovered, to his horror, that the shower pump had been turned off – who knows when – and that many weeks of soapy water were slopping around under the decks, ready to sink the boat any minute now… (Now who could have turned it off? Not me surely?? Am I the sort of person who could do this?..Maybe the same sort of person who could put a hot chicken on top of a 250g block of butter and ride around all morning with it melting happily all through her backpack on Thursday in Lifou?) The lanyards turned out to be innocuously sitting in the window seat, in full view, so we were able to strap on and be safe.
We arrived in the main town of Lifou, Wé, at about 10pm. Arriving anywhere in the dark is fraught with stress and danger, and this was even worse because our faithful modern electronic chart informed us, cheerily, that we were fast approaching a reef, even though we could see bright lights and a few red and green markers. We got out the big spotlight and shone it suspiciously at the “reef” – it was a big sea-wall, curving in a narrow S-bend into a small and welcoming marina. The whole operation was charged with difficulty. There were lead lights, nice, thank you, but only some of the red and green markers were illuminated. Some were unlit and hiding coyly at sea level. AAGHH! We knew, or rather we had been told by seemingly responsible sailors in Port Moselle that there was indeed a marina, but getting into it in the dark, past big coral bommies, was totally exhausting, especially when the chart continued to deny its existence. We found out later that the marina was built in 2003, incorporating the reef, so the chart had had plenty of time to absorb this information. (In case you are wondering why the bright lights didn’t help us – they never do. They are always behind the sea wall shining right into your eyes and effectively blinding you. Why… I do not know… We had a similar problem in Lakes Entrance in Victoria.)
We slept very soundly after all of this, and especially after discovering, thanks to a young French sailorhippy on a yellow trimaran, Peter Pan, that there was a very lovely little shower block, unlocked and ready for use. Bliss!
Thursday 21st July
The manager of the marina was, understandably, surprised to see us early the next morning, firmly tied up to his fuel wharf,, but quite happy to let us stay two nights – well we had already stayed one, nothing much he could do about that… It took him an eternity to calculate the rate – he had a steam-driven calculator and a tiny little chart, with different categories for different widths, lengths, maybe colour of hair, who would know? We told him we had a problem with water in the engines; he said otherwise we would have to go back to Noumea and re-enter the country (Do Not Pass Go.)
We were very happy to discover that the marina is an aquarium for tropical fish. There is a bit of coral, and many schools of fish, big and small, patrol happily around under the boats. And – no stinkpipe! The water is beautiful, clear and pale green, not putrid and smelly like it is at Port Moselle.
After breakfast we got out the bikes and set off to explore Wé. The cleaner at the marina, who was very friendly, told us proudly that we were right in the centre of town. If by “centre” you mean “five kilometres away” he was correct. Never mind, we enjoyed our Wé Day very much. Lifou is a beautiful island – well they all are, around here. The town stretches along the coast, just one long road dotted with houses, a small hospital, a school and many shops – food, and general stores full of floral smocks and gardening implements. There are some local markets selling mainly root vegetables (not yummy…) but there are also several large bright and sparkly supermarkets, heaving with people ka-ching ka-ching! All very prosperous.
Everything is very clean, neat, tidy. The lawns are mown and the gardens are well tended. Early on we passed a very old lady vigorously hacking away at her herbaceous border with a machete. She straightened up to wave at us with great delight – couldn’t have been more pleased to see us tootling past. We admired her work and she flexed her muscles at us – “It is good for me!” she shouted happily. Most of the houses are modern and reasonably modest, on big blocks of land, and most also have a buré (conical thatched hut) next to their house. Lots of chooks with chickens, happily foraging. And for the first time we saw children playing soccer on a big bit of flat ground. Mostly people in New Caledonia seem quite inactive, not prone to rushing about in boats or on land or in pursuit of a ball of any sort.
We stopped at most of the shops in search of a bit of pipe and a bit of hose which Pete needed for our water-pumping project. He managed to get some sort of connection thingy, which I carried in my pack and which was soon to become slathered in hot melted butter but…we won’t dwell on that. We decided to keep riding on and through the town – it was all so very pleasant – beautiful, interesting, warm. We followed signs which proclaimed “Le Bellevue Restaurant” very proudly. (I thought it should say La Bellevue but who am I to quibble ,and I am not always correct…) And indeed we did discover Le Bellevue, about a kilometer off the main road, right on a beautiful beach, stunning. But very firmly empty and closed. “Definitivement fermé!” said a shouty handwritten note. This is not a tourist-oriented country… We rode back and stopped at a roadside stall-type café and had a very nice cup of coffee. It was all very clean and tidy, with a proper chef in checked trousers and a pristine jacket. We were sure the food would have been totally delicious but…it was only 11.00, too early for osso bucco, the plat du jour. While we were sitting on our white plastic chairs, a big car rumbled to a halt, and a large, imposing man wearing a bright shirt with a totem pole emblem and a big wreath of woven leaves on his thick bouncy hair got out. He shook hands with us and asked us where we were from. He bought his take-aways, then came back to our table – he had obviously taken a fancy to Pete. “This is for you!” he said, placing the wreath on Pete’s head. He did look a treat! I suggested he place his decoration on top of his Tilley hat so he was able to keep it all day. This was fortunate, because his big black friend drove past us several times during the day, waving very happily – I don’t know what the consequences would have been if Pete had discarded his gift! Hurt feelings! Eviction back to Noumea!
On the way back down the long main street, we took a little track down to the glorious beach, just to paddle and admire and tell each other how lucky we are. Pete had bought a slab (24 cans) of Numero Un (local) beer and had tied it onto the bike with the belt which usually holds his belt up – Pete is McGuiver reincarnated, resourceful at all times. A car pulled up behind us with a screech – another big black man was leaning out the window, booming away at Pete: “Is very good! Your hat! Aha! Family of chief!!” I don’t know what made him happier; the sight of Pete beaming away under his festive wreath, or the fact that, in some surprise at the screech of brakes, Pete had dropped the bike and the whole slab of beer onto his toe…
By the time we were heading back to the marina, it was hungry time. We passed a small café in a most beautiful position, with white plastic chairs and little tables overlooking the pristine water and mushroom-shaped bommies protruding from the sea. How nice did it look, we couldn’t resist! We sat and admired the beauty and ordered not-very-cheap meals. I was able to eat some very nice wild spinach (called tou) and a bit of the boiled rice… Pete manfully ate everything – 6 years at boarding school has prepared him for anything! I am not sure how they managed to make a piece of perfectly nice meat so very dry and tough and tasteless all at once. It wasn’t fatty, which is my usual complaint (whinge whinge, oh no not for me…) but it was truly horrid. No I didn’t order something nicer because…other than that there wasn’t anything , really. There was quite a lot on the menu, but the waiter kept saying, Non, pas d’omelettes. Non pas de…whatever I thought I might like on the menu board. By the time we got back to the boat I was very hungry and had to make myself a baguette with hard boiled egg.
We went out of the marina into the bay and started trying to pump all the unwanted water out. Nick, while crewing on the boat, had very sensibly suggested that we flood some area of 2XS and practise pumping. Good idea. Nick is surely The Man!! Well we didn’t need to simulate this emergency; we had soapy water slopping around ready and waiting to be pumped. I won’t go into details but we did manage to get it all out, after a few false starts, with the wrong tap on or off. (In Pete’s defence, the correct tap was a shy little thing hiding behind some great big pipes.) Poor Pete was very hot and bothered by the time we had finished. I just had to scamper about doing whatever he told me to do – turn this on, that off, empty this bucket then the other one, find the hand pump, that sort of thing.
When we got back to base and had had our second shower for the day (oh the luxury of unlimited hot water in a marina!) we decided to try to find a WiFi connection. Nobody in Lifou seemed to have heard of WiFi, or indeed of the internet. There was a cybercafé way up the road towards the (Le!) Bellevue, and we had trundled our bikes in to check it out in the morning. Very strange…it was as if we were invisible! A French man was crouched over a computer, totally ignoring us. And all around him swirled a vicious domestic argument involving a very angry, thin, black-haired mother, a toddler, an eight year old boy and a broken bowl. We hopped from foot to foot in the doorway – I had discovered that by hopping from foot to foot I could make a bell ring, obviously indicating CUSTOMER WAITING. None of them was in the least interested in talking to, or even looking at, us so we rode away again. We got the vague idea that the computers were not up and running…
The nice ladies in the post office said that they strongly suspected that the library MIGHT have WiFi. So to the library we went, in the late afternoon. The stern and imposing librarian came out to question us very closely as to our motives for wanting WiFi. Well, we said, for safety – we need a recent weather forecast so that we are not overcome by storm and tempest on our way to Vanuatu. Hmmm…we could have 45 minutes, and we would each need a password, and a log-in code. Mine was – I kid you not – vehyxxl log-in and 9Ak3x8nD password. Pete’s was totally different but equally obscure. Oh for the days of DOUBLECHOCO, or MCFLURRYMAGNUM at Le Quick, and LUNCH, the never-changing password at Le Bout du Monde.… And did it work? No not really… I managed to look at my gmail in brief glimpses, but if I tried to send a reply, the whole system would come crashing down and I would have to start again and put in the entire log-in and password and wait for it all to load up. Soothing and pleasant? I think not! I gave up and did some deep-breathing exercises.
Friday 22/7/11
It poured with rain all (Thursday) night and our bikes, which were tethered on deck, got a very good rinse. When they were dry I gave them a good squirt with some anti-rust and then we folded them up and put them tenderly to bed on their very own bunk.
Our aim was to leave at midday and to get to Tanna, one of the southern Vanuatu islands, by the following morning. We had three hour shifts because it really is essential to have someone on watch. Not so much to avoid collisions – no yachts, no fishing boats, no liners, no cargo ships, just an empty sea, with a few beautiful blue flying fish and the very rare sighting of a bird or two – but to be there for when the autopilot decides it wants to turn the whole boat around and take us somewhere completely different – New Zealand, anyone? Maybe back to Ile des Pins? Or is the Southern Ocean beckoning?? Pete was just fine, ofcourse, and I was…well I was OK because I was drugged up (thank you Uncle Harry…And in case you are wondering, everything was totally LEGAL; our much-loved Uncle Harry is a paragon!) Night sailing just really isn’t my thing, although I very much enjoyed my three hours (midnight till 3am) at the helm, under a starry sky, with a half moon, a calm sea, the boat just cruisin’ along, and then my dawn shift, 6-9. My only real complaint is...it is very exhausting…Too much beauty, too much leisure and pleasure, I hear you cry…and well yes you are right…
I had Bill Bryson for company this time, although I still have Stephen Fry to fall back on in times of stress. And a whole lot of very interesting ABC podcasts - oh I do love communication technology!
[A couple of nice quotes for you, from my podcasts:
Woody Allen on death – “I am not afraid of dying; I just don’t want to be there when it happens!”
Elizabeth Taylor – well I so agree with her… “When you find someone who has no vices, they probably will turn out to have a whole lot of very annoying virtues.”]
Saturday 23/7/11
On our travels so far we have met many people who taken the oceans in their stride. A forty day passage?? Pfft, not a problem! Cruising around year after year, hardly ever in sight of land? Yawn. So I am a bit diffident in telling you that Pete and I are so very and totally pleased with ourselves that we have sailed – yes! To another country! And now to YET another one! WEEHEE!
We arrived at Tanna round midday – and what a beautiful island, sparkling in the sunshine, thickly wooden, steep mountains, a small administrative centre – oh dear and oh no, totally inaccessible! Big surf waves, nowhere to go, no harbour or shelter… well yes a big concrete wharf-ish thing but do we want to tie up to it, bash, crash, poor 2XS, poor Pete, poor me?
So we cruised on by, hoping to find shelter on the other side of the island at Port Resolution. Eventually we cruised into a most perfect, charming, beautiful and welcoming bay, by mid-afternoon. Oh the relief… We are amongst nine boats – the only catamaran, very unusual for this part of the world. All I can say is…we are almost speechless with delight. (I did say almost so there are more words to come, ofcourse!)
Our bay is as pretty as a picture, butter wouldn’t melt. But…we are already dirty and grimy, covered with volcanic ash from a fearsome neighbor, Yasur, a big and active volcano, spewing forth. Every now and then it makes a primal grumbling sound, like thunder only more fiery. We can’t wait to go up and look at it close up and personal!
We pootled into the nearby beach, looking for the grandly named Port Resolution Yacht Club. Some very shy young French people along the pathway told us, showing the whites of their eyes; we must be SO terrifying – that it was THAT way, yes, indeed. And it wasn’t. THAT way was a beautiful village, all thatched huts, children playing ball games, boys dressed in sulus (well sulus is what they call them in Fiji – short sarongs.) Everything all neat and tidy, with women mowing the lawns by bending down laboriously and thwacking the grass with a machete – oh their aching backs!!
We were on entirely the wrong track for the Port Resolution Yacht Club but it didn’t matter at all because our walk through the huge banyan trees was so very beautiful. This is an absolutely gorgeous island! When we finally got to our destination, we found an open shed, with a few dodgy couches, tables, chairs. One of the couches was colonised by Mummy Daddy and Baby Cat, all very contented (marmalade, tortoishell, tabby.) Eventually we came upon the owner of the club, Werry, and the dear little burés on the clifftop. He let us have a beer each, on the tab, because we don’t have any Vanuatuan money yet. He has also organised for us to have a late afternoon trip to the top of the volcano so we can see it in the dark – how fearsome will it be!! And on Monday at 7am he (or Stan the Man from the village) will take us by car across to the admin centre so we can check in through Immigration, Customs, Quarantine, the whole box and dice, kit and caboodle.
We asked Werry about the population of Tanna. He said there are 10,000 on the island and that there are about 18 different languages, most of them completely distinct from each other. In the yacht club there is a heartfelt handwritten notice, written very painstakingly. It suggests that visitors to the village, and to the club, should NOT bring their rubbish off their boats for the village people to dispose of it. The notice concludes: “Please do not let the story of your visit be – THEY ENJOYED AND WE SUFFERED.” We talked to him about this and he said it is a real problem, and pointed out a couple of big black garbage bags. What can people be thinking?? This is an isolated village; people live in thatched huts, there is no electricity, and there most certainly isn’t a nice little team of garbage trucks busily patrolling the island.
As we walked back down to the beach where we had tethered the tender, we found a little party from the big steel boat, Infinity, moored nearby. From Germany, Belgium, Wales, and including a very small new baby, Rhian, firmly attached to her mother and ignoring the world. Her mother is a slender delicate girl, Sage, with red curly hair and enormous blue eyes. Kate Headlam’s mother Jane would describe her thus: “alabaster skin, sapphire blue eyes, hair of spun gold.” (She has a poetic turn of phrase…) We talked on the cliff path, balancing precariously, and the Leader Of The Pack, Captain Clemence, invited us for dinner tomorrow night. We have to do a party piece, he said, looking at us with narrowed eyes. Aha! As if that would be a problem! Pete can sing Rock Island Line with vim and gusto and I can recite the Owl and the Pussycat. And if they want an encore, well Pete and I can do a beautiful duet of Wolverton Mountain. As one of the men in Lifou shouted at us, “no soucis!”
Sunday 24th July
We had a G & T and ate our dinner, read our books on the couches for a while and then went to bed, very pleased while our beautiful anchorage, and proud of ourselves for getting all the way to another country. The volcano, Yasur, rumbled away all night like a contented old lion, blowing out steady puffs of smoke. And we got up in the morning to find that 2XS had been transformed into Pompei de Vanuatu… Every surface was covered with heavy grey ash. Fortunately not much got inside – just a bit at the foot of the bed, and another bit on one of the cushions upstairs. But the whole deck was grimy and grey… We ignored it for a while and had a lovely swim in the tepid green water.
After breakfast and a very busy time on the couch with my book and a cup of coffee or two, I decided it was time to take action – out with the dustpan, brush, and big broom. Pete abandoned Roald Dahl and came out to help. We managed to sweep a lot of the grime into the sea but…within an hour or so, another coating of volcanic ash had gently settled on the deck. Never mind; when we leave on Tuesday, I will spend some very happy splashy hours with the sea water hose with the biggest of the brooms, and all will be shiny and white again.
To add to my Favourite Boat Things – of course, my Stormy Seas jacket (thank you Pete!) It is hanging in the wet-weather gear cupboard now, but for many weeks it was my shelter from the stormy blast, a whole little environment to keep me safe and warm.
In the late afternoon we did a little tour of the bay in the (filthy grey ashy) tender. Along the shore and all the way up the steep, forested cliffs we could see puffs of smoke – fumaroles? This is a word which slid into my mind from dim-distant geology classes at Launceston High – isn’t it amazing, the things we have filed away in our reptilian brainstem? Right down at sea level there were vigorous puffs of steam, and boiling salt water – we know it is salt, because Pete was determined to get a sample – I leaned precariously out the front of the tender and put the bailing bucket under the steamy scalding water. And yes it was salt – but why? Shouldn’t it be underground water?? Who knows…I can’t google it because (ofcourse) there is no WiFi connection anywhere within cooee. It was absolutely fascinating. And as we neared the black beach in the middle of the bay, we could see activity in the rock pools – women from the nearby village were doing their washing in the hot water. It must work very well, this washing system, because their white t-shirts were blinding; I can’t achieve anywhere near that level of cleanliness with all the modern technology and Preen and White King and Sard Wonder Soap in the world.
Egills, our compatriot from Port Moselle, has been one day behind us, on his lovely yacht Panache IV. He and his friend Colin had a most dreadful and strenuous trip over to Tanna – the sea was huge, wild wind, lots of tossing and rocking and rolling. How I would have hated it! Pete seems to be very good so far at avoiding all of this sort of nasty sea and wild weather. He spends ages gazing at meteorological charts, and talking to everyone who might have any information about weather patterns. We went over and had a drink with Egills and Colin and invited them (so hospitable, we are,) to the party on Infinity. They were far too tired to contemplate such a thing, which is sad because I think they would have enjoyed it very much.
Infinity is such a big boat! A small ship, really. I went into the Captain’s Quarters for a while, to talk to Sage and baby Rhian. All three of captain Clem’s older children are on board – I’m not sure what the oldest one’s name is, but I think he is 20 and a most charming and handsome young bloke. Reuben is ten and Ronia is twelve; Pete and I had a mini-argument about this. He thought she was extremely gorgeous, sophisticated and self-possessed for a sixteen year old and was dumbfounded when I told him she is about to start first year high school on Germany.
There are 25 people living on Infinity at present, which Clem says is about maximum capacity. There is a bed for everyone, and the Captain’s Quarters are very spacious and comfortable. People who come and live on the boat are mainly driven by a desire for adventure, but more for a need to be involved in environmental causes. Some stay for 4 weeks, others for 9 months. (It costs approx. $900Aus per person per month.) It is all very well organised, with shifts of 3 at a time doing the sailing, cleaning, cooking. There were at least 50 of us at the party, in the main common room, which seemed to me to be about the size of a high school gym. A team of willing workers were constructing plates and bowls out of banana leaves, and there were huge cauldrons of curry and an oven full of damper. We had brought a few small contributions – cheese, biscuits, wine, and these all were gobbled down very swiftly, but really, we wouldn’t have needed to bring anything – Clem is such a hospitable man, gentle and quiet but very much in control of his small floating world. I spent most of the evening with Rhian, who is two months old. Sage was so grateful to have someone to hold her baby. I asked Pete to swap sides with me on our couch so that I could lean my baby-carrying arm on his lap – Rhian is tiny but babies get very heavy after a whole – and I was very happy to spend time with this small sleepy bundle. Sage is a lovely girl. In fact, everyone we spent time with at the party was delightful in one way or another. As well as all the boat people – ie the denizens of Infinity and people off the other six yachts moored in this bay, we had the Port Resolution Soccer Club. They had a wonderful time too. There was more than enough curry in the cauldrons so that they could fill up their banana leaves several times – hungry boys; soccer is very competitive on Tanna and they had some big training games organised for the following day. They were great; they sang, a big massed choir of voices, played guitars and drums and were generally great company. As for other performances – well Ronia (12!) was the master of ceremonies, interviewing various people about their environmental credentials. Five people had prepared characters to be interviewed, in costumes. An enormous young Russian bloke stole the show as Conan in a grass skirt with much grunting. He was so terrifying I thought he was going to gobble up my baby Rhian, who fortunately slept through the moment of terror. They called for more performances after this – Pete did a very stirring rendition of Rock Island Line, which I think the soccer team enjoyed, especially the Woo Hoo at the end. And did I get up and perform? Well…no…
Monday 25th July
This was our day for going to Lenakel to do our entry to Vanuatu formalities. But someone at the infinity party told us that in fact it was a public holiday and that nothing would be open… So we didn’t show up at the pick-up area at 7am. Instead we had a leisurely day. Pete worked on his computer (mutter mutter under his breath) and I had a wonderful time with the salt water hose washing off every single bit of gritty grimy grey ash. So satisfying! I had feared that, when wet, it would turn into sticky sludge, but no, it responded very well to water pressure and slid off into the sea.
At five we had drinks on 2XS – Egills and Colin, from Panache IV, and Derek and Bella from Pandana, who we had met on Infinity. Derek (Australian) and Bella (Austrian) have been cruising constantly for the past 16 years. They go home to Brisbane for the cyclone season, but other than that, they are wandering around the Pacific Islands very happily. I was very proud of myself because I managed to create a perfectly delicious dip out of what we had in our cupboards – our cupboards are almost bare… It comprised: one hardboiled egg, some soy mayonnaise, a small tin of curried tuna and – secret ingredient – a spoonful of cup-a-coup laksa.) Everyone sat around and chatted heartily about The Sailing Life etc and then at eight they all bolted for home (ie their own little boats.)
Tuesday 26th July
So we did indeed take the trip to Lenakel, in a 4WD ute, with a very young and very skillful driver, Doua. We waiting in the waiting area for nearly two hours, from 7am, until – why? Suddenly, mysteriously, it was Time To Go! It isn’t very far, from Port Resolution to Lenakel. As the crow flies… But as a 4WD labours it is a long long way… It took us about three hours on slithery, slippery, steep rutted tracks. A very beautiful trip, however, through the gorgeous Tanna forest, with magical banyan trees to delight and amaze us at every turn. In some of the villages along the way they had built lovely little tree houses in the trees – how lovely would that be! Egills and Colin were with us – they too had to go thorough Immigration, Customs, Quarantine. And three of the Infinity crew were on the trip – Swiss Tom, US Kelly, French Delphine. All very pleasant company. We also acquired a constant stream of hitchhikers hopping on and off the ute tray. Occasionally we would stop and acquire some taro, a few chickens on a woven basket, bunches of veggies, the odd large dried fish. People would get on and off at different villages along the way, but we always seemed to have at least two large and cheery chaps clinging to the back of the ute. Pete and I sat in the cab on the way to Lenakel because he thought it would be better for my back (poor old crock that I am…) But it wasn’t all that comfortable inside, and we exhausted poor Doua’s comprehension of English within half an hour – he surely needed to use his mental powers to keep us on the road! On the way back he had some of his own cheery friends in the cab and Pete and I were able to get a fabulous view of the forest and the villages from our hard wooden benches in the tray, with our friends and a whole new lot of people hopping on and off.
Once we got to Lenakel it took many hours, ofcourse, to complete our paperwork and go from one office to the other. And..no way of getting any Vanuatu money… We had about $100Aus with us in cash, and the bank did change that for us, but we needed quite a lot more to pay for this and that official; bit of paper. (All of this cost nothing in New Caledonia.) Pete went off in the ute with trusty Doua to a nearby resort, White Grass, and managed to get a bit more money using his visacard. At Werry’s request I have dutifully written an official letter to the National Bank of Vanuatu outlining exactly why they should install an ATM in Lenakel – how beneficial it would be to the community, and to weary travellers arriving from all over the place! I think Werry is heartily sick of penniless (I mean batu-less) people turning up wanting a beer at the Port Resolution Yacht Club.
While Pete zipped around in the ute, I went to the local internet office and bought a $5 card to connect to the WiFi – yes I had brought my trusty computer all the way over the bumpy Tanna mountains. And guess what – the connection didn’t work… I managed to get into one of the office computers and to catch a tantalising glimpse of my emails – Telstra would like me to pay my bill; Michael has written something or another…I think I wrote a word or two to Mum, and to Katy…and then it all vanished. Breathe…breathe… I left all of the stress behind me and went to find The Others, who were sitting on benches outside the Immigration office waiting for the Quarantine man to take us to his beautiful little house/office a few kilometres away.
We passed very close to Yasur on the way to and from Lenakel, driving over a weird lunar landscape of grey ash, so strange in the midst of the lush Tanna forest. On the way back as we were approaching the volcano, it gave a loud rumble and then a huge puff of black smoke erupted – so spectacular! A few other even larger ones followed and then the wind changed and it all fell on top of us in the ute tray – cough splutter!!
We got back to 2XS at 7pm so tired we could barely wipe the ash out from our eyes and ears…
Wednesday 27th July
We had a peaceful morning on the boat then met Colin and Egills, from Panache IV, for lunch at the Port Resolution Yacht Club. Oh how posh it sounds and oh how posh it isn’t…
More or less on the spur of the moment we decided that we would walk up to Yasur, the local volcano. A walk would surely do us good, and Stanley, the Man in the village would pick us up, along with a party of New Zealanders who had just arrived on a small yacht (Independence). Seasickness had been a major issue… They all had scopatches but…they apparently didn’t work for some of the benighted crew… They started ahead of us on the 3 hour walk because we had to go back to 2XS and get equipped for the expedition – warm clothes for the top of the mountain, head torches, bottle of water etc etc.
It was a most beautiful walk, through the thick lush forest. Magic, as Vin Patel would surely have said. We met lots of people along the way, walking to and from the soccer ground where celebrations were taking place for Independence Day. Most of the players play in bare feet, and very nifty and vigorous they are! We were very pleased with ourselves because we overtook the New Zealanders (YES!) and we got to the top in less than the three hours we had expected. But…it was a long hard walk to the top… Lots of people passed us, from resorts, in comfy 4WD vehicles as we trudged our way up from sea level to the rim of the volcano. The guide books say Yasur is the most accessible active volcano in the world, and indeed, the cars parked at the bottom of the track, and it was only a 10 minute walk up the hill from there. Amazing!
I don’t think I can do justice to the experience. It was absolutely breathtaking, terrifying, wonderful. We met up with some of our young friends from Infinity, who were equally enthralled and fascinated. The volcano roared and rumbled and bellowed and produced the most spectacular fireworks imaginable, right over our heads. We stayed until it was nearly dark; it was very cold there, and started to rain, so we tore ourselves away from the spectacle and walked back down to the car park. Stanley wasn’t there yet so Pete and I walked back down the track for about an hour until he caught up with us. This was a strategic error; we should have kept on walking. The ride back, wedged into a twin-cab ute tray, was excruciating. There were ten of us jolting along together with nothing to hold on to… the man next to me, one of the nicer new Zealanders, was pleasant and polite and I really didn’t want to say to him, “Ummm…is that knife in your pocket…” He had some sort of large Leatherman system on his hip and it dug mercilessly into my thigh… I think I am branded for life…
All whingeing aside…it was one of the most extraordinary things I ever expect to see, Mighty Yasur!!
28th July 2011
We left Port Resolution, which was starting to feel like home, at 6am and had a beautiful cruise to the next island, Erromango. It is – are you surprised – just beautiful, gorgeous forest right down to the water’s edge. Erromango is much less populated than Tanna – between 1000 and 1500; Tanna has ten times that number. We could see mobile phone towers on the hills so I optimistically took my computer into the village…maybe there would be WiFi!! Well…there wasn’t…
But it was a lovely little village, with a fresh water river, children playing, women washing clothes on the rocks, others fishing. And everyone wreathed in smiles of delight at our arrival… One of the men, Frank, asked if he could come to Port Vila with us tomorrow, with a few buckets of wood. (??) Ofcourse we said yes. We will see if he clambers aboard at 6pm…
We were happy to meet the former chief (Jif) on the island, William Mete, and his wife, Martha, who plied us with bananas and pawpaw and a big root vegetable which I am sure will take all the gas on the boat to cook… They have a little guesthouse behind their own little house, and showed us very proudly.
Friday 29th July
(Frank the hitchhiker didn’t show at 6am…)
We have arrived – finally – in Port Vila. All very pretty but…no marina (sob) and I can’t get internet connection (double sob…)
Also I can’t find Leah (my niece) or Mark (her boyfriend (sigh sigh…)

Tuesday 19 July 2011

Wednesday 20th July a few minutes later

Bad news - my tenant/s have all fallen through... So if you know of anyone...
Wednesday 20th Juy
Happy 50th Birthday (Superman) Chris Harmsen!
No time to proof-read, sorry about this...

Friday 15/7/11
We had the most beautiful trip from Noumea to the Baie de Prony.
No complaints at all! It wasn’t cold – no icy blast.
It wasn’t rough.
I felt well - no sick sick sickedy sickness!
And on the way Pete spotted a big whale tail, giving us the flick, just behind the boat, heading purposefully down the island.
Pete had time to read a few stories from Roald Dahl’s Tales of the Unexpected, which he had, ofcourse, read many years ago. He would regale me from time to time with a felicitous turn of phrase – Roald Dahl is such a beautiful writer, even if his short stories are very creepy. I couldn’t read any inspired writing from Black Notice… Really what was Patricia Cornwell thinking? And did an editor even look at this book?? Her first few novels were tightly written, gripping, if gruesome. In this one she writes as if she is totally distracted, maybe playing backgammon and watching TV at the same time. Here is an example: “He said his car had just been in an accident and needed to call the police.” WTF????
We got to a beautiful anchorage at about 4.15 so no stressful time with it getting dark dark darker…as sometimes happens. There were lots of boats in this bay, and many more still racing towards the anchorages as we found our spot. Most of the areas were completely full, nose-to-nose boats. And then we found a little nook, with only one yacht. Maybe nobody wanted it because there isn’t a beach in this part. But it is just gorgeous! Fringed with forest, birds tweeting, mangroves, reeds, mirror calm water. Just gorgeous!

Saturday 16th July
We woke to – wind and a rain squall! Our plans to walk up to the lighthouse – there is a track from one of the little nearby bays – or to go and find the volcanic vent up a nearby river came to naught. Nothing for it but – to relax! R & R! We shouted a bit at the people in the other yacht moored in the same little bay, and they came over for a cup of coffee. Margaret is from New Zealand but has lived and worked (teaching English, and doing translations,) in Noumea for twenty years. She was head of geography, and then later of modern languages, in various NZ high schools, and is very happy with her life in Noumea, with delightful Jean-Philippe as companion. Jean-Philippe is a primary teacher, born in France. His family has many links with New Caledonia. In fact, his great grandfather was the harbour master in Noumea. They were taking advantage of the long weekend by coming to their favourite place in the Baie de Prony, Anchorage C. There is really only supposed to be room for one boat so they must have been quite dismayed when great big 2XS barged in late in the afternoon, but they were very kind and friendly about it all. We spent a very pleasant morning with them, and asked them very many questions. One thing we had been wondering about was crime – we didn’t feel that Noumea was a very dangerous place at all. They said there is a lot of theft, most of it opportunistic, and yes, as the last shop lady we spoke to in Noumea had said, we were indeed very lucky our bikes hadn’t been whisked away from under our noses. We said, but there are so many police! “Ah,” they answered. “But they don’t do much!” As they were leaving we commented, happily, on the number of birds tweeting in the trees. “Yes!” said Jean-Philippe enthusiastically. “And yesterday evening there were fruit bats! Do you know fruit bats are truly delicious? Unfortunately they are now a protected species.” Live and learn!
I have been thinking about My Favourite Things. Things I have with me and which are invaluable on 2XS. Just in case you want to set sail for a year and a day…
Top of my list – and who will be surprised at this? – is my folding bike. I have already written about how much benefit we derive from these bikes, and how sad we would be – trudge trudge – without them so I won’t elaborate.
Then here is my Tilley hat from Canada, bought in Sydney. It is indeed a wonderful hat, and it stays on my head in all but the fiercest of winds, with its under-the-chin strap and behind-the-head laces. It also has the great advantage of having a reinforced crown, so Pete and I are very happy to use our Tilley hats in place of bike helmets – helmets are just hell in tropical climate.
My Ecco sandals would have been on the list but alack and alas they are no more… I will be very glad when I have been able to replace them with something equivalently supportive and non-slip and altogether trustworthy.
I also love my inflatable waterproof Black Wolf pillow. It has been a great comfort to me in times of seasickness, and I lug it around all over the place to make a pleasant squishy place to sit anywhere on the boat, any time.
My small light backpack is also invaluable. It holds quite a lot, or nothing much, and doesn’t weigh anything itself so it is never a nuisance, and is always there ready to stash a bottle of Iced Tea (pêche) or Orangina Rastaman.
I would have added my Kindle to this list but…my Kindle has disgraced itself by not responding to any cybersignals outside Australia. I have lots of books lined up ready to come on line but…it won’t let me turn the connection on, even if I am sitting right inside a WiFi signal. (This is why I have been reduced to reading St Joseph’s cathedral jumble sale books.)
My tiny little ipod shuffle, smaller than a chocolate frog. It holds an unknown number of songs (I have 820 downloaded so far,) plus who knows how many ABC podcasts and several very long audiobooks. It is very much my friend and companion when we are at sea and I would be very sad without it.
Oh and ofcourse….my faithful computer… It is a PC, bought at JB HiFi, and it really hasn’t caused me much grief at all. Or none that wasn’t – ahem – user error. So I have to apologise to it for (occasionally…) wishing that I had bought a bright and shiny Mac instead…
Our salad sprouter, a gift from Ann-Marie. It hasn’t started sprouting yet, because so far we have had many greens in the fridge, ready and waiting to be eaten. But its time is coming soon! Mung beans have been rinsed and are sitting in their little tray, looking ready to germinate any second. It all reminds me of the thrill of growing wheat on cotton wool in primary school.
My mohair blanket – no NOT the sort of thing you would think of taking on a yacht…or in the tropics…but it has been a great comfort and a source of warmth in times of need. Even this afternoon, with a chilly little wind blowing around the Baie de Prony, it has been wrapped around Pete’s legs as he has his little after-lunch (zzzzz) snooze.
My sailing shorts. NO not glamorous or even faintly attractive…but so practical! Many useful pockets non-stick stuff on the bottom (I mean MY bottom) – to prevent slipping and sliding when the going gets tough. Navy blue and totally anonymous looking; great for bike riding and notslipping on the boat!

Sunday 17th July
The plan for today was to go the six miles up the river off the Baie de Prony to look at, and maybe swim in, the warm volcanic vent. There is also a little village, and some convict ruins, all very much worth seeing. But…we thought we would be very clever and have a practice at putting up our sailchute in the sheltered bay. We were very tickled to find a little note on the tie rope – “Happy cruising, love Nick,” written on blue electrical tape. And all went very well until…it didn’t. I got some very painful injuries – a bad rope burn on both hands, and a hideous wound on my knee from an awkward landing soon after letting go of the halyard which had caused me grief. I ignored all injuries, ofcourse, because…the sailchute was in the water, half under the boat, and some of the ropes were tangled. It took us ages, and a few choice words from some of us, but we did get it all retied and sorted. (And yes we have learned some valuable lessons and will try again tomorrow.) As for my grievous wounds…well they are of no consequence because they are barely visible and therefore not grievous at all! I went into the cabin and took my jeans off, expected to find a large and bleeding gash which might need stitching with Pete’s trusty whipping twine. But…to my astonishment, there was my knee, as pink as could be, with not a scratch or even faint bruise to be seen. I’m so glad I hadn’t told him anything about it, let alone tell him to get out the needle and thread with which he had been diligently fixing fraying ropes that morning…And as for my hands, yes they are slightly blistered but nothing to indicate the amount of pain and misery they caused me. (I’m SO glad I didn’t make a big fuss…although I really wanted to…)
After all of this excitement I said, “Let’s just bugger off.” We really didn’t have time for leisurely sightseeing; we wanted to get to our next anchorage well before dark, because it involved wending between reefs with only the chart, and no markers, to guide us. A very narrow gap…Pete negotiated it all expertly, with the (very accurate) chart showing him exactly where to go while I, perched over the bow, peered anxiously into the water, with my very polarised sunglasses firmly in place, looking for bommies.
A few hours later, at 3.15, we arrived at a most beautiful sheltered place for 2XS – Anchorage B at Kuebuni. We are surrounded by steeply wooded hills, palm trees, white beaches, araucaria pines. Idyllic! And, to my delight, a sea-eagle-ish bird to greet us, swooping over the top of the water trying to catch fish. Maybe the pêcheur balbuzard? Who knows, but I was very happy to see it. Should we get off the boat and explore? Well yes ofcourse we should…but my need for a cup of tea is greater…
So…we sat and lolled about happily, me with my cherished cup of tea. I started to write postcards (yes MORE postcards…) and then we heard…putt putt putt – “Bonjour? Hello” We had visitors! There was only one other boat in this anchorage, a 46’ yacht, Shana. From France. Inhabited by yet another delightful couple, Antoine (Tony…) and Celine (“Like Celine Dion,” she offered. I said I knew a very beautiful Celine in Hobart, quite different to Celine Dion, and she was very happy. They have been cruising round the world for…wait for it…sixteen years, since Celine was 24…
We were very happy to extend a bit of bienvenu and we sat around very happily chatting on 2XS. Antoine spoke quite good English, Celine not so much, so we gossiped away happily in French. After a while they took us over to their boat, in shifts. Pete came back with Tony, wildly enthusiastic, so Celine and I puttputted over. And oh my goodness yes…the most beautiful boat I have yet seen… Antoine is a mastercraftsman, not just a carpenter. Shana is just beautiful. Spacious, light, with all manner of utilitarian luxury (yes I know this is a tautology but bear with me…aboard. A washing machine for example, behind a beautiful wooden door. A dining table with a wonderful marquetry gecko inlaid. They live frugally but with great style. They catch lots of fish and preserve whatever leftovers they have, in preserving jars, using a pressure cooker. We were inordinately impressed. After much chat, we decided to stay one more day in this most beautiful anchorage. No rush… Yes we have “checked out” of French territory…but maybe we won’t be flung into the clink if we overstay just a day or two…
Today before we left the Baie de Prony I discovered we had a hitchhiker. Some poor hapless spider had woven a most beautiful web on the deck, between ten wires. It was intricate and so clever, but it did not, ofcourse, last the trip from the Baie de Prony to Kuebuni. Too many waves, too much spray, wind. I showed Pete before we left and his face lit up with unholy joy. (Yes I know I love him but he has a dark side…) “Oh,” he said, “And I wonder where the BIG BLACK HAIRY spider is??” He doesn’t know me very well, does he? I know full well that the BIG HAIRY spiders of which I am inordinately and foolishly frightened, do not weave a delicate little web on the deck of a boat…

Monday 18th July
This morning I woke up SO dopey…oh dear, painkillers can do that to a girl… I made cups of tea, drooped around with my book, ate breakfast, and finally, languidly got up enough energy to write some postcards.
Our plan was to put the bikes in the tender and puttputt into shore and ride the however-many-kilometres to a nearby town, Goro, I think. I don’t know because…we didn’t get there… We loaded up the bikes plus both of us (yes a big load I know…but it was quite calm, in our big, beautiful lagoon,) precariously made our way. It was a long way and as we approached the shore it became apparent that we were never going to get there. Low tide…lots of mud, a bit of a reef, no passage through to shore unless we wanted to tow the tender (squelch squelch…) through thick oozy mud. No thank you! So the bikes got an exciting little sea voyage but no exercise… But we did get a big bonus for ourselves – a very big sea turtle, not far from the tender, plunging to the depths at the very sight of us, but visible for a few seconds nonetheless.
Celine and Antoine had stopped by in the morning to report back on their own trip to shore. They didn’t have their bikes with them so couldn’t go very far in their quest for five not-quite-ripe bananas. They did find a shop which sold…well nothing, really. And in case you are wondering how and why they dot to shore – they went at high tide; we left our run too late.
No shopping, no bike riding, so we decided to go to the beach on the (closer) island. Just beautiful! Because the tide was so far out, we could walk a long way out on the reef to look at all the different creatures in the rock pools. Clams, crabs, strange coral formations (no, sadly, not much coral…but a little of it, very lovely to see.) We ventured inland a bit and found a small abandoned village, a bit shabby around the edges. Celine told us later that this little island had been bought by a lawyer form Noumea; maybe the local inhabitants have been given a $$$ incentive to leave their little encampment.
We had been invited for drinks on Shana at 5.00 so we went back to 2XS and made ourselves a bit cleaner and more presentable. When we were on the deck about to leave, we saw Celine and Antoine waving excitedly and miming, “Get your binoculars out!” And there, standing knee-deep in water, were five strange dark creatures, close to the island. I said, “Umm…. New Caledonian Llamas??” But it was a small herd of deer! When we arrived on Shana Antoine said he had been watching them scampering and splashing happily across from the mainland to the island. Aquatic salt-water loving deer! Who knew?? (And yes ofcourse they are feral, a pest, and there is a bounty on their cute little heads but let us not spoil this lovely story!! And…yum yum said, Antoine and Celine…)
We had a very nice hour or so, drinking pastis and home-brewed beer with Celine and Antoine, and admiring yet more beautiful features of their fabulous yacht. And then home (I mean 2XS which yes is home) for dinner and an early night because we had to be up at 6.00. Unheard of!

Tuesday 19th July
We left beautiful Kuebuni, said a silent farewell to Shana – Antoine and Celine do NOT get up early, they told us very firmly as we said our farewells – and glided out gently through the narrow passage without a problem in the world. It was quite a long way to Maré and we couldn’t; go very fast at all because we were going straight into a NE wind. “Bastard!” said Pete, crossly. He disappeared into the cabin to look up charts, do things on the computer, and wander around with different bits of electronic wizardry. He was perfectly well occupied and happy, so I stayed at the helm, very happily listening to ABC podcasts and casting my eye 360 degrees around the horizon. I saw a few flying fish and a very small flock of fishing birds – they looked a lot like gannets, diving intently into one patch of ocean, which must have been heaving with fish. Otherwise not a sign of Nature untold we got to Maré and eagle-eyes Headlam spotted a turtle watching us from not too far away.
No I didn’t stay at the helm from 6-4…I am not superhuman! After lunch (2 minute noodles, and more delicious than you would think!) I felt a great need for sleep so Pete came on deck and I spent a very happy couple of hours snoozing gently and listening to my marine Best Friend Forever, Stephen Fry.
The water here around mare is just beautiful. Crystal clear, turquoise, perfect visibility. The most beautiful water we have seen so far on this trip. Maybe we wil get the chance for a bit of a swim!
Our yachting guide to Maré assured us there was a 12 metre floating dock on the SE side of the jetty in the main “town,” Tadine. Well…there wasn’t. We cruised delicately thorough the sea walls and then…out again. We anchored next to a very pretty New Caledonian yacht, resplendent ith flags, and once we had anchored we wondered – what on earth?? This is a very small town. A shop, a little morning market, an administration building, a school, a post office and a smattering of houses. So why all the noise?? Sirens, music, people lining the stone walls. And was this all for us?? A flypast of small planes (2), one large helicopter – yes, Steve and Nick, we are sure it was the same one we encountered in Ile des Pins, with the big tough (unfriendly) French soldiers aboard. There were lots of speeches and then – a balloon release! I could hear the main speaker talking very excitedly about “les balons” so I had an inkling this would happen. And how pretty it was, to have a whole cloud of balloons right over our heads! As soon as the balloons were released, a small m motorboat came whizzing out of the little harbour, carrying a large man in flowing robes – the Chief! Coming to greet us?? No, although the boat did do a whizz round 2XS. The chief was holding aloft a bright red torch and he looked very happy. He took it, with much ceremony, to the yacht next to us, which put up a beautiful sail and disappeared off into the ocean.
We were totally bemused by all of this; did the people on Maré maybe think it was the 14th of July?? We decided to take our chances and go in to shore in the tender. We have our clearance papers from New Caledonia and officially we are not supposed to set foot on NC territory again, not unless we go through customs, immigration, quarantine, in Noumea all over again. But we crept ashore…I was hoping to buy stamps and find a letterbox –such an optimist – and also I thought maybe there would be WiFi. But no… What we did find was a large shed-like shop, where Pete thought he might buy some beer. There were many aisles of alcohol, but BIG signs everywhere saying THE SALE OF ALCOHOL IS FORBIDDEN ON TUESDAY 19TH JULY UNTIL 8PM. Intervention!
I tentatively asked the large flowery shoplady if there was WiFi anywhere and she said yes ofcourse, I could go and sit outside the town hall, like all the young people do, and I would get a connection. I had by computer in my backpack, just on the offchance, so I took it out and sat on the steps of the small office building. And yes – WiFi connection, not a problem But…they wanted the password. By this stage we had been befriended by a big local man, who so wanted to help. Surely I didn’t REALLY need a password, they were just tricking. He asked everyone who went past, but they weren’t teenagers so ofcourse they didn’t know.
So this is getting longer and longer…maybe we will go and sit outside the mairie tomorrow morning and some kind person in the office with give me a password…or maybe we won’t push our luck and we will just move on to Lifou.

Thursday 14 July 2011

Friday 15th July

My last cup of coffee at Le Bout du Monde...

We have stocked up on food at the Casino Supermarket, the Shell service station, and the market and we have bought the last few odds and ends Pete needs for the boat - no I don't know what they are...small fiddly shackle-y things.

Maybe we will get WiFi at Lifou, one of the islands off the north coast of New Caledonia, here we might stop for a day or so.

Who knows?

Please write to me; I am so happy to get comments on my blog,. or emails in my inbox...

Wednesday 13 July 2011

Thursday le Quatorze Juillet


Aha yes Bastille Day!

There was lots of ooompapapa happening out in the main street, which is just across the carpark, really, from our marina, all starting about 7.30. We knew the parade was to start in earnest at 9.00 and indeed it did, right on time. The poor participants had been lining up and practising their drills and ooompapapas since the very early hours. Lots of people turned up to line the street. Noumea is not a particularly lively or happening sort of place so I suppose this morning was a much–anticipated highlight. We knew that the Australian Army Band was going to make a contribution to the festivities, and out they came, in kilts, playing, ofcourse, Waltzing Matilda. Not, I must say, the full Australian Army Band… Some old codgers, grey and bearded and mostly quite fat, having a lovely time. There were some speeches – fortunately not many – and the presentation of a few Legions d’Honneur. And then the parade! For such a small population, Noumea certainly has a lot of men, and a smattering of women in uniform. Many army troupes, armed to the teeth, ditto gendarmes, police, water police. The firemen and ambulance officers drove past, and there were about seven slightly sad-looking horses. The bike-riding police didn’t make an appearance but I have seen them around Noumea a lot, having a very nice time on shiny new bikes, wearing bright red helmets. Much more cheery looking than mounties...

Canadian Claude, on the small catamaran next to us, Celsius, didn’t go to the parade. But he did decorate his boat with a whole array of beautiful flags, in honour of the day. He is the only person we have come across with a bike like ours. Some people do have bikes, and I see them sometimes heaving them out of hatches, in many pieces. They have to re-construct them, and they never look quite right or quite safe.

A new big catamaran has come in – 48 foot, very big. Glide. We met Jeff, the owner, and his young son Alan. They had bought the boat in New Zealand and sailed it over here very dodgy seas and high winds. “Steep learning curve!” said Jeff, who seemed very happy to be hosing down the decks in the flat calm marina.

I had understood that the supermarket would be open until twelve, so after the parade, Pete and I rode off with backpacks and a list. We wanted eggs, baguettes, a hosepipe fitting. Alas I was mistaken; all shops were tight shut. I suggested we look for the fitting at the big Shell service station on the way back. Well they didn’t have any such thing but who would have thought? - they did have eggs, lots of groceries, beautiful fresh baguettes and – even better – most delicious pastries! We shared a pineapple and apricot delicacy back on 2XS, with a cup of coffee, and were very happy.

That was the end of poor Pete’s happiness for most of the rest of the day. He had to continue with his book-keeping, while I had the happy task of doing some washing in big buckets on the deck and then – BIG treat of scrubbing the decks. Now I am sure none of this sounds fun but…it is about 28 degrees today with a gentle breeze. And for many happy hours I was in charge of a hose with a big squirty gun nozzle thingy on the end (yes we did get the fitting; from the Capitainerie back at the marina…) and a big fat scrubbing broom. I had to shut all of the hatches so Pete was sweltering away while water swished invitingly around him outside. I listened to my ipod and I scrubbed and squirted and it was the best fun. I had to wear the horrid plastic sandals, to stop from slipping on the deck, or from treading on hard and pointy things, and I must say they were worth the nearly $20 I paid for them. I think I did the rounds of the entire boat about three times, climbing on the roof, hosing arcs of water into the sea, creating my very own personal rainbows. The boat was extraordinarily dirty, in places you wouldn’t imagine would even be susceptible to dirt. Right up on the roof, for example, where feet rarely tread. I think there must be lots of pollution in the air here…very sad. (And yes I too was totally filthy by the end of my labours.)

Before our dinner last night, our compatriots from The Owl came for a drink and a taste of some of our cheese and terrine. They had sussed out that there was to be a lantern parade at 7pm, so we were able to join in with this amiable festivity and stroll up the street to the Place des Cocotiers, where we were entertained with fireworks – lots of of oooh and aaah. I think the love of fireworks is universal – strange, isn’t? Must be a primeval urge, to see the sky lit up.

I think everyone enjoyed their food at Au P’tit Café. It was very crowded and lively. A very late night – it was well after eleven when we got to bed… Nick, if you are reading this – we needed you and your glowsticks; we would have livened up no end once we got back to the boat if you had been with us!


I hope to be able to do one last blog before we leave tomorrow, but you never know with the WiFi at Le Bout du Monde... If not, I will write again when next in internet range, maybe towards the end of the month...We are making our way to Port Vila (Vanuatu) in easy island-hopping stages.

Tuesday 12 July 2011

Wednesday


Last night the people from the big catamaran Que! Barbara, who had come back from a nice little jaunt around the islands – they said Tenia was particularly wonderful, in case you ever need to know – came for a drink on 2XS. Well they didn’t really; they brought their own drinks with them… But I was able to give them a bit of our newly acquired cheese at least. Very nice people, gentle and quiet, from Darwin. We will probably see them again in Vanuatu, such is the way of the Sailing Grey Nomad….

We are leaving Noumea on Friday so we have had to do lots of bureaucratic things today – everything shuts down for Bastille Day and this is our Last Chance Saloon.


In the morning I spent a profitable few hours de-moulding walls and fittings in the bathroom – oh the joy. I also caused Pete a lot of grief by taking not one but two irretrievably broken vacuum cleaners to the rubbish bin. He was very sorry after he agreed to the dumping first one (an Electrolux). It has been sitting for a long time, in many broken parts, in a bin under the bunk in Steve’s cabin, and Pete has always thought that he would be able to fix it. One day. He changed his mind about the Electrolux when I was taking the second one to the bin – this one was threatening to short-circuit the entire wiring of 2XS, and possibly of the entire Port Moselle marina. Maybe, he said, looking at me with anguished expression, I could go and get the many component parts of the Electrolux back out of the bin, so he could put it together again and cobble together a new motor. Well no I couldn’t… I knew that it was at the very bottom of the bin and had seen people coming, with their ordures, to tip yucky things on top of it. I have made enquiries and the only place I can get a proper wet/dry vacuum cleaner which will not die a horrible death on 2XS is at Ducos, the large industrial estate we drove though on our way to Yaté. How keen am I to go there? Not keen enough…


Approaching 12.00 we rode off along the waterfront to do our thing with Customs, Immigration, and Capitainerie (Port Authority.) Oh bad timing – everything closed from 12-1.00. So we rode back to the cruise ship quay, where there is a bright and tempting strip of outdoor cafés offering a wide variety of very tempting looking food, and beer. I was stopped on the way by a New Zealand couple, who were gazing longingly at my bike. I dismounted and said, “Ken Self’s in Hobart, if you want to buy one.” But no…they wanted to hire bikes. The poor things had just flown in from New Zealand, and are leaving on Monday. They had assumed they could hire a car, or a motor bike, or even push bikes, but…everything is shutting down for Bastille Day and every available car is already hired. I suggested they go back towards Port Moselle and get on a ferry for the Ile des Pins…much more fun than moping around Noumea with everything closed.

I had a most delicious noodle dish at the ferry food court for about $8 – astonishing!! It was all freshly cooked before my very eyes, with lots of vegetables and a generous helping of prawns. Pete had some sort of baguette full of pork and beans…well maybe not; I didn’t look too closely, was too happy with my own little noodlebox.

Back to Immigration, where we were greeted by Valérie, our initial Immigrations interrogator on our first day. “Ah!" she said, “Marguerite et Peteur!” When I said we were leaving on Friday, she said, very sternly, “Why??” She helped us fill in our forms, which were in the tiniest print imaginable and sent us on our way to Customs in the most helpful way possible. Our Customs lady was also swift and efficient and helpful and we had only the Capitainerie left to visit. The office was on the third floor of a big grey building further along the way – oh how lucky we are we don’t have to plod along these long long hot roads. Poor John, from The Owl, had a most debilitating walk the other day; he went quite a long way along the wrong road, which is very easy to do, then had to walk back, trying to find the shy little entrance gate to Immigration. Yesterday he asked if he could take my bike for a spin and he came back with a very thoughtful look on his face. The Port Authority chief was a whirlwind of activity. He was shouting away on the phone when we arrived, saying, “Quel bordel!” as he tried to find various bits of paper on his desk. He put the phone down and turned to us. I said we wanted to leave, please, and the shouted, “Ah! Partir c’es mourir un peu!” (Almost: parting is such sweet sorrow…literally: leaving is to die a little.) He stamped our papers with gusto and sent us on our way highly amused and hoping he would calm down a bit on his long weekend break.


Tonight we are going to Au P’tit Café with Ken and John and The Girlfriends, who arrived last night. I have met one of these “girlfriends,” beautiful Gail, John’s wife of 42 years, who is tall with dark hair and a lovely smile. I haven’t met Eleanor yet but Ken has told me she is not tall – she is about 5 foot and plays the trombone, which is about as big as she is. They are coming to 2XS for a drink first at 7.30 because I couldn’t get a booking till – gasp – 8.30… People dine late here… I will be beyond hunger by 8.30!! Thank goodness I had my sustaining lunch of noodles and prawns.

Monday 11 July 2011

Tuesday

Another one of the big cruise ships is in. There are lots of Australians wandering around the waterfront. I have seen several groups peering intently in the water around the stinkpipe, admiring the fish and taking photos of them.

I have been busy, while Pete has been focused on his paperwork. I decided to go and look in pharmacies – maybe Homyped might make some sort of strong sandal-like footwear, for female feet? But no…all of the sandals in the pharmacies are delicate. I haven’t worn my new lilac-and-white creations yet; they are on the deck, glowing faintly, and not looking at all inviting for my needy feet.


Not far from the marina there is a large optometrist shop. Aha – I had a small brainwave. Pete is worried about losing his glasses. He actually lost his other pair in the dark on Lord Howe Island when picking us up in the tender. Splish, splash, gone. So he fashioned a way of keeping his one and only pair safely attached on his head, with a shoe-lace and some green electrical tape. So I bought him a proper strap thingy for attaching his glasses to his head. Very pleased with myself, I was. And did his face light up with joy? Well no ofcourse not…he likes and trusts his own creation and will keep it this way, thank you very much.

Next I went along to Hervé’s cabine and – miracle – it was open and our gas bottles were filled and ready to pick up. I trotted back to the marina and unleashed a trolley. I don’t know how I thought I was going to pull the whole heavy load back to 2XS – the trolley is heavy enough without gas bottles on board. Noumea has lots of idle large chaps hanging around the waterfront, but none of them look in the least keen to earn a franc or two lugging trolleys. I was very lucky; Egills was there, from Panache IV, and he very kindly heave-hoed the contraption back to 2XS. He is a lawyer from Melbourne, specialising in Town Planning law – he is therefore very busy and is really enjoying his extended long service leave Island Time.

I also had some time to chat to our SaucyMiss, Claudine. Her eyes misted when I told her we were going to Vanuatu. “Oh it is so beautiful..” she sighed. It turns out she comes from there – he mother is Vanuan and her father French. She misses it very much, but there are more job opportunities for her here in Noumea. She says we will love it in Vanuatu and we will find it infinitely cheaper, especially the local fruit and veggie markets. I asked how locals manage here, and she said, “We live on debts.”

Last night we had pre-dinner drinks with the men from The Owl, which arrived recently. Ken and John are expecting their “girlfriends” later today – by “girlfriends” read wives of 42 years… They very much enjoyed Pete’s gin and tonics. I tried to creep down to the galley to put another lot of rice on, to extend our dinner, but I was shouted down – they were all quite happy with biscuits and cheese and yes please another drink. Maybe they were wise not to stay for dinner; it was a strange meal, comprising leftover fried rice and some fillets of the Elizabeth Reef fish cooked in Cajun spices…

After dinner we watched an episode of West Wing and then – exhaustion took over; it must have been at least 10.30. We woke at 6.30, and said, “Oh what a beautiful time of day!” and went straight back to sleep. Well I didn’t think I went back to sleep at all; I thought I lay there thinking, “Time to get up, places to go, people to see!” but when I did start to stir, Pete said, “What time do you think it is?” “Well, 6.35!” Ummm no…it was 9.00… (It is midday now and I have to tell you I am very much inclined to just lie back on the couch with my book while Pete mutters away at his account ledgers and…just catch a zzzz or two…)

We are listening to a local radio station, and how mellow and lovely it is! They are playing lots of different music: from Yves Montand (ie ancient…), Schubert Lieder (even older…), some very gentle reggae, Smoke on the Water, the Doors, modern French chansons, a rap version of Lili Marlene. The announcer, Marguerite M(didn’t catch it), has a very gentle, easy manner, and in between songs, she discusses films and books with a whole series of lovely, nicely spoken people who are totally unknown to us. There don’t seem to be any ads; if there are, they are very mild and sound like part of the program. Tomorrow, she told us as she signed off from her morning session, the theme will be FRUIT. Songs and stories, all about fruit. There is now a male presenter, Bertrand, and he is discussing TV programs, specifically “Dexter, le serial killeur.”

Yesterday I asked Brigitte, my chatty coiffeuse, about crime in New Caledonia. She immediately talked about alcoholism and how the best strategy is avoidance. As in, keep away from rowdy drunk people anywhere anytime. Recently a down-and-out young man was brutally killed while taking a kip on a bench in the Place des Cocotiers. This has outraged the city; it was all cruel and unusual but maybe not unexpected, amongst the small population of street people. But another crime recently has horrified Noumea. She thought I would have heard about it. A young Australian sailor, she told, me, of previously unblemished reputation and character, got very drunk and killed an old local lady, who was nothing but an innocent bystander. What on earth could have happened, we wondered, to create such a violent and unexpected situation? I will have to try to find this news item…I wasn’t quite clear about how recent this was.

On my way to the ablutions block this morning, I passed The Owl and found John chatting to a young man with strawberry blond hair, in a ponytail. He was looking totally bewildered so I – so helpful, always – trotted over to translate. John was saying, “I think the people on the boat next to us are German because they have an Alsatian dog.” The young bloke just blinked and didn’t get it, so I leapt in with a French description – “Un chien alsacien; grand, comme un loup.” (A big Alsatian dog, like a wolf.” Total incomprehension, then he looked at me, pleadingly and said, in very broken English, “I don’t speak French.” Poor bugger only speaks German…he isn’t going to get on very well here, is he??


This afternoon I was as busy as a bee, ferrying washing back on forth on my bike. Three big backpacks full. It wasn’t far to go, just to the end of the fuel wharf, a very pleasant jaunt, coming and going. Esther, the dreamy laundress, had gone on leave. Her laundry was being minded by a very nice Japanese-looking French-speaking man, who was profitably spending his time hitting very small pebbles into the sea with a golf club. He was very tickled with my bike mission, and helped me fold sheets quite efficiently. Everything was clean but I was very disappointed that Esther hadn’t found the energy to fold anything. Everything was just stuffed into baskets. I said this to my folding friend, and he said, demonstrating, that I could smooth things with my hands. Well yes this would be a good thing to do as things came out of the drying process…too late once they have been crushed in a basket. Well, he suggested, ever-helpful, maybe if I didn’t bring so much washing to be done all at once. A bit hard once one is out at sea…but I just bit my tongue and handed over my (VERY VERY) large number of francs.

When I got back and unloaded, I decided to go to the supermarket deli section to get some cheese. I haven’t found any other place to buy cheese at all in Noumea, and the Casino Supermarche have a most wonderful selection of cheeses and general charcuterie. So expensive it makes one’s eyeballs roll a bit in one’s head… But I got a bit of this and a bit of that and rode back to 2XS with a very satisfying selection, plus a baguette which smells just wonderful, and a tube of Noumea-brand toothpaste (why not?) to try, all for a bit less than $50.


On the way to the shop I stopped at the ATM, very close to the marina, just next to the market, which we pass and use just about every day. A very large and extremely smelly man ran up to intercept me – “No, madame, this one is out of order!” As we were chatting about the unkindness of ATMS, I noticed, shyly nestled into the wall in total camouflage colours – a letterbox! I wonder if anyone ever puts mail into it? Or if the postman can find it, blending carefully into the wall next to the ATM?

You might think all of this domestic Noumea stuff is terribly boring…and you might be surprised to hear that I am having some of the happiest days of my life. Pete, however, is not. He is sitting at the other end of the table sighing deeply and muttering imprecations – bits of paper are not where they should be, the computer is doing weirdo things, as computers do, his biro has rolled off the table and disappeared completely. But I don’t have anything to bother or annoy me; I love living on the marina, riding my bike, having couchtime with my book, doing domestic tasks and solving problems which would have little charm at home but which are endlessly fascinating in a foreign country.

Sunday 10 July 2011

Monday again...
Oh dear lots of typos in my last blogpost... maybe I am succumbing to holiday ineptitude....
Monday

Yes I did have fun yesterday while Pete laboured away in the cabin with mountains of paperwork. When I got back from one of my jaunts at 4.00 I found him sitting with a furrowed brow while JUST outside the window, out of his line of sight, three pretty teenage Island Girls were rehearsing a cute little dance. Oh poor Pete! I think I got all the treats on Sunday. Well no; we both did get the pain au chocolat, which, as I predicted, was not yummy at all. French bakeries in Vietnam are full of delicious patisseries; why not here??

More boats have arrived on the marina…the Grey Nomads are on the move!

I went for two bike rides. The first was through the city streets, which were totally deserted. Like Hobart in the 60s, when I learned to drive in empty weekend streets. Every single shop shut, the Place des Cocotiers full of tumbleweeds. I went (puff, pant,) up a few steep hills, knocking off yet more of the 1,000 Views of Noumea, each very spectacular. At one of my vantage points I could hear music – where was it coming from?? Fun to be had! I tracked it down to St Joseph’s Cathedral, on the next hill along from my last View. It was all go up there! A big sort of jumble sale; dancing girls, food, drink – well cups of tea… I didn’t manage to get one at all – it was all more complicated than it seemed, and maybe I had got there a bit late. The BBQ pits showed signs of recent activity, but really I don’t think I would have liked anything more than my mediocre pain au chocolatpieds de porc, (pigfeet) anyone?? The food was all gone and I think the urns were empty. I chained up my bike unobtrusively behind a small outbuilding – I felt very bad doing this; other people had left their bikes free and loose. What a nasty suspicious foreigner I was! But…my bike is My Precious!!

I watched some very self-conscious girls doing a PNG dance- or maybe they actually were from PNG, it wasn’t all that clear… And then I saw…Mecca! A stall of second hand books!! It was run by a pod of women who looked just like my Hobart friends. They were happily ensconcing, chatting and – yes, truly, – knitting – behind the stall. I found a box of romans anglais and bought four, for about $1 each… Nothing fabulous – Patricia Cornwall, Jeffrey Archer, that sort of thing, but good cannon fodder.

I went and sat on a plinth with my bac[pack full and watched the next spasm of entertainment – a troupe of men from Lifou who did a very savage hak-type dance with hefty wooden weapons of war. I think the cultural centre, Tjibao, is very sanitised. Not a weapon to be seen…and I am sure the islanders had weapons and thwacked each other and les français with gusto in their time!

It all went on (Pauline will understand…) for a bit too long so I went back to 2XS and unloaded my books and set off for another adventure along the waterfront. In another bay I saw a newly shipwrecked boat, quite big – could it be Black Pearl?? Oh the Schadenfreude… - but no, it was some other boat, red, with people swarming over the sinking hull. What on earth could have happened to make it sink?? People were waterskiing all around, having a good look and being of no assistance, so it can’t have been too dire an emergency.

And does Pete like my wonderful new hi-tech sunglasses? Why no he doesn’t! He shuddered and did a double take when he saw them. He doesn’t think I look Mafia; he thinks I look Space Age, and not in a good way… He offered to fix my old ones, but they are totally smashed; even if he gets the arm back on they will still squash up on my cheek and make me unhappy, whereas my new ones make the world look just too bright and shiny for words.

This morning we watched it astonishment as a HUGE yacht came in – Eagle V. It has two masts, reaching way up high into the sky. Soaring! I think it was at Hamilton Island last year, dwarfing all boats around it. It has moored at the wharf across the way; wouldn’t fit into this puny marina… It only stayed a few hours, then swept majestically away back out to sea.

Pete has been poring over his accounts again and I have been having mild adventures. No music, no dancing girls… I sat, fruitlessly, at le Bout du Monde, and then at Le Quick, unable to connect to WiFi. No point in getting annoyed…this is Island Time and I am on holiday time myself, aren’t I?

So I went for a little stroll, to see, amongst other things, how Hervé was going with the gas bottles. Oh, quelle surprise, his cabine is not open… I was enjoying my stroll around the streets, just pootling, when I felt an unpleasant sensation around my feet – oh dear and OH NO, one of my Ecco sandals had ripped… I asked, in some panic, if there was a shoe repair anywhere nearby, and was directed to one in the Victorie arcade. A lovely French cobbler, who gazed at my sandal and said he was desolé but…it is kaput, unfixable. He thanked me very much for thinking of him but…I had better go and buy some new ones. But where?? I am sure there isn’t a Birkenstock shop in Noumea… (In defence of my sandals…they have been through thick and thin, wet and dry, rock and sand and salt, since 2005. And when we were in Vietnam some enterprising young blokes on the street took them away to clean them and did some unwanted stitching around the edges…I think this weakened them. Maybe I will go back and sue!!)

On the way back to the boat I went to a tobacconist to buy stamps – I am getting to know who to see, where to go! A lovely young French girl welcomed me politely. But…she only had 8 110 franc stamps for postcards and if she sold them to me…she wouldn’t have any left! “Desolée, madame!” she said, as I left empty handed.

I stayed on 2XS for an hour or so, with one of my (very dirty ie soiled) books from St Joseph’s Cathedral jumble sale before setting out for my second excursion of the day.

I was nearly successful with all of my missions.

Firstly, I found a lovely stationery shop and bough a two-hole punch for Pete, who has been making holes in his many reams of paper with a nut & bolt arrangement which is less than satisfactory.

Then I went to every outdoor shop and shoe shop in Noumea, with my broken Ecco sandal, trying to find a replacement. Oh yes indeed, I found a shop which stocked beautiful imported sports sandals…for men… Not a one would fit my puny girly feet… In the end I paid about $20 for some truly horrid velcro-ed sandals which will cause me much grief I am sure. They are not all that uncomfortable – yet – but they are very ugly. Bright white plastic with lilac linings. They were the only sandals in Noumea which I could buy to fit me which did not have high heels…

In the morning I had accosted a nice looking (older) French woman in the street and asked her if she could recommend a hairdresser. “Mais oui!” she said. “Just around the corner there is a perfectly good one. Try there.” I made an appointment for 1.00 and finally managed to get into a salon chair at 2.30. (Island Time...) I was quite happy waiting. I had an iced tea to drink, (pêche, this time,) magazines to read – very interesting, to see stories about Brangelina and Jennifer Aniston interspersed with stories about Mylene Demongeot and Carla Brunei.

And did I enjoy my salon experience? Yes very much, although I came back to the marina needing to go straight to the shower block to wash out the many layers of product – mousse, gel, hairspray, more and different and smellier hairspray… The salon owner, Brigitte, did everything – washing hair, keeping the till, answering the phone, sweeping the floor, cutting, colouring, straightening, as well as chatting with all three of her customers at once. She was a delightful blonde French woman, about my age. She was thrilled that I spoke French and laughed with joy when I said my hair grew like a weed (une mauvaise herbe) in the tropics. Ho coem I knew such colloquialisms?? When I first walked in she said, “Be careful” and I said, “It’s Ok, I understand French, so she said, “Faites attention” and I neatly tripped up the step she had been warning me about. All the customers were highly amused. My companions in the salon were having different processes. A thin young Melanesian girl was having her short curly hair coloured very black. She was a pastry cook and told me, shyly, that the shop wasn’t in Noumea, it was in Mont d’Or. Well, the next little town, Robinson, actually. Yes opposite the pharmacy! She was very happy when I told her that was exactly where we had bought our lunch on our way to Yaté. The other customer was an older larger lady wearing a very bright muumuu. Her husband had accompanied her; he too was large and imposing. He sat on the spare chair and drifted off to sleep, occasionally emitting a gentle snore. She was having a very lengthy and laborious procedure done to her hair, to straighten it. Very many smelly chemicals. So Brigitte could mostly devote herself to me while the other two steeped. Snip snip snippety snip she went. I don’t think it has been as short as this for many years. When I left, all coiffed and upswept and sprayed, she said, firmly, “Pas de chapeau!” and made me put my Tilley hat in my bag. (It went back on my head as soon as I was round the corner…) She also said I could come in for a blow-dry and comb up, for free, any time I wanted. Does it look OK? Who knows…all I know is…it grows like une mauvaise herbe so it doesn’t really matter! (I think it is probably fine now I have de-bouffed it...)