The End.

The last 10 months have been rather bumpy in paradise.

Before Christmas, with the 3-year mark looming, big decisions needed to be made as to our future in New Caledonia. I had no idea as to whether my contract with the University would be renewed (I spent 6 months playing the will-they-won’t they game with my boss until it was clear that it really wouldn’t be) and therefore I started looking at different options both in New Caledonia and in the UK (gasp).

My hit rate in New Caledonia turned out to be rather successful and therefore ensured the freelance work I have been able to pick up over the past months and our decision to stay in NC was formalised.

However, whilst in the throes of job hunting, a rather interesting opportunity popped up: the chance of Post-graduate research into a collection of Pacific artefacts in the UK.

Something that might actually appreciate my rather bizarre career path!

The fact that I have never studied anthropology and haven’t been a student for the best part of a decade seemed only minor considerations given the fact that I have basically spent the past 4 years of my life blundering around in the dark and unknown. The chance of a place was unlikely but what did I have to lose?

I have been thoroughly reassured that there is not a noticeboard in every university with failed applications posted on it where everyone can point and laugh. Also, I live halfway around the world, so even if they do exist I would be unlikely to find out, so I decided to write a proposal.

Applications were submitted and the waiting game began, with focus turning towards my actual new day job as a freelance teacher. Time passed. I rather surprisingly got called to interview.

In May I was offered a full scholarship.

It was a surprise.

I have been living the past few months in a state of denial, but now, with a day left in the country, I am (just about) ready to leave.

It will be incredibly sad to leave a place that has given me so much.

In my 3 and a half years in the Pacific, I have had experiences and opportunities beyond anything I would get elsewhere. I have met the most amazing people, from many different countries many of whom I hope will be lifelong friends. I have discovered a new language, a new way of life. Many incredible and beautiful new cultures. I have been forced to think about things that would just never occur to someone living in the UK.  I have been challenged beyond anything I have done before and from it drawn great confidence. I have learnt new skills and become truly adaptable in order to survive. I have had the most incredible experiences, discovered the most truly breathtakingly beautiful places and been forced to grow as a person. There have been times when it has been very very hard, but I have learned and developed. I am definitely not the small blonde girl from Wales who left the UK nearly 4 years ago.

That said, I now think my time here has reached a natural end. I do now need to move forward and do something just for me. This PhD will give me the opportunity to do this whilst keeping a little piece of the Pacific in my heart.

I will step into the unknown void once more.

 

 

Pride after a fall

Happy New 2017 everyone!

First, let me apologise profusely for the hiatus in posts. The last 3 months have been somewhat of a whirlwind (literally, we had 50kmph winds yesterday) and for quite a considerable part of that time, we haven’t actually been in New Caledonia, making the whole ‘blogging from the Pacific’ thing a little pointless.

So, what have we been up to, I hear you ask?….

Well, following my return from Melbourne, Team Helen & Phil got on with some major logistics.

The start of December saw a fantastic weekend spent on a catamaran with 5 of our fabulous New Cal mates. The weather was perfect, the scenery beautiful, fishermen Phil & Andrew caught us dinner, I played with sharks and touched a sea snake (Pacific living is making me well’ard) and we survived the weekend with only 2 broken fingers and some mild seasickness. For a group containing: ‘Liability Phil – there is no Pacific Island he can’t get injured on’, a guy that on occasion has got lost at sea and myself (to which my failings have been well documented) I think this is really quite good going. The skipper, who has now taken us out 3 times has already planned our next adventure & told us very firmly that next time we have to speak entirely in French. And only feed him French wine.

Phil and I then had a quick pre-holiday-holiday (because our lives are tough) to Lifou, the last Loyalty Island on our list (coz, like Pokemon, it is important that you catch them all). It was stunning, interesting, we had adventures in French and on the last day Phil asked me to marry him. Not a bad trip really.

 

A mere 24 hours after that bombshell we got on a plane and took the long 32-hour flight back to the UK for 5 weeks of merriment, over-indulging and revelling with friends family and general hangers-on (thank you postcards are on their way). It was lovely to catch up with everyone and we enjoyed ourselves fully.  We travelled over 3000km within the UK. We were quite tired. And Cold. So very very cold.

So now what?

After a plane journey that seemed to last forever we are back to the unusual existence I call normality. We have blundered through jet lag and for the first time realised just how royally it can mess with you. After a mere 18 hours back in the country Phil and I went shopping. I decided that I did not need a handbag. This turned out to be quite possibly the most stupid decision I will make in 2017. Well maybe. Turns out supermarkets are distracting places and I am easily distracted.  Shopping is often a chore that requires both hands.

I wandered off. So did my purse.

Cue: panic, hysteria and the realisation that this was a problem that couldn’t be solved in English. I would have to speak French. Quickly.

And oddly I did.

Even though I was sleep deprived and on the verge of tears.

Even when 12 hours earlier I had been failing to understand the French plane announcements which I have heard thousands of times.

I found an army of helpers. I got announcements made. I was able to give all my details and make people understand me.

Cards were cancelled. Banks were contacted (coz in New Cal it isn’t enough to just cancel the card centrally.) I understood that my bank at any one time does not know the contents of my account and that I would have to wait 3 days to see if I had been defrauded. I understood when the lovely lady who found my purse called me. I understood the instruction to pick it up.

I UNDERSTOOD. AND PEOPLE UNDERSTOOD ME.

Finally, after two years (practically to the day) of living here, I feel like I have actually achieved something. Yes, I speak French with an English accent. Yes I, makeup words or freely add in English if I don’t know the French. Yes, I use the wrong conjugation and blatantly miss out any words that don’t immediately seem important to me. Yes, I have decided to be zen and only live in the present (there is no past or future). Yes, I pick gender on a whim and change halfway through a sentence, but god-damn-it, I can get shit done.

For this, I am proud.

I may be stupid and a calamity and lose stuff idiotically.

But I am proud that  I can deal with it when I do.

 

 

Projects for 2017:

Get better.

Cultivate French friends.

Be awesome.

 

Guilt Free English

I was lucky enough to spend last week in Melbourne, Australia, the result of a rather snap decision on the back of cheap flights, wanderlust and the realisation that my current time-rich situation will be fleeting and that do I really have to ‘use it or lose it’. Life is short and there are adventures to be had.

So I booked my flights, found myself a hostel and started dreaming of proper coffee and art galleries.

As I boarded the plane, I realised that this was the first time that I would be going to an English-speaking country in 11 months.

11 MONTHS.

This was a fantastical revelation.

Everything is going to be SO DAMN EASY.

It could be pointed out by an observant reader of this blog that I do not exactly have an ‘immersive’ language experience here in Noumea. Yes, I live in a French-speaking country, yes, if I want to get anything done I have to operate in French, yes, it is part of living overseas that you try to immerse yourself in the new language and culture in an attempt to integrate.

BUT.

Turns out this is harder than it looks. I live with Phil. We converse in English. Granted, I often do not have a clue what he is on about (early in our relationship he told me he had spent the day making a model – I naturally assumed he was a sculptor) but we do still clearly speak almost identical versions of the same language. Indeed, the majority of our friends speak English as their first language or at least speak English to us (as their English blows our feeble attempts at French right out of the water). I also have the luxury of working almost entirely in English (and Google Translate) and there can be some days where I actually end up not speaking any French at all.

HOWEVER.

Relying on others is a constant source of guilt and shame for me. I really wish I could speak better French and it is something I am going to put a lot more effort into improving next year. I try hard, but not being understood is frustrating and learning any language is difficult.  Currently, every interaction has to be planned and practised, and if someone doesn’t stick to the script all hell breaks loose (see my previous post Girlz on tour).

I feel guilty when someone speaks English to me. I feel guilty when someone has to translate for me. I feel guilty when I feel I am taking up too much of someone’s time because I don’t understand and I feel guilty when someone (?understandably) gets pissed off and ignores me.

Therefore, you can imagine, after so long, that the prospect of going somewhere that speaks English was somewhat of a big deal.

So I found myself on a plane Melbourne,  excited by above all else, the promise that I would be able to speak fast, unthinking English, freely throwing in as many colloquialisms, idioms and general ridiculous slang as I could think of…. HEAVEN.

….I think however, I might have got a little carried away, such was my delight in guilt-free English-speaking.

I asked for help, often needlessly. I spoke to everyone I came in contact with…..often unsolicited. I started conversations to rooms, aimed at no one in particular and waited for someone to respond…

Yes, I am aware that this is not really socially acceptable behaviour and could be considered the actions of a crazy person, but in my defence, I was travelling alone, I like people and I appear to have developed a word daily word quota that I must communicate, even if no one else is around.

But it did pay off.

Fortune favours the bold.

And bold I was (quite uncharacteristically).

I even started conversations with people in restaurants and cafes, who nearly all turned out to be truly lovely and fascinating human beings who I hope I will spend a lot more time with in the future. It also appears that since I moved to the other side of the world, I seem to have become at least 50% more interesting as a person. Turns out not many people have met a Brit that lives on a tropical island, and that fact alone can at least keep a conversation going for long enough that people forget that you accosted them whilst they were having some alone time or enjoying a private meal.

Proven fact.

I took the advice of my newly-enforced friends and I went (slightly) off the beaten track. I went to some lovely places and saw some amazing things (ironically the 2 big blockbusters in town were Banksy and Hockney respectively….a little taste of home). I made snap decisions, tearing myself away from my natural instincts to plan everything. I found seats to comedy an hour before it started, I went to gigs and revelled in the fact that I could understand (almost) everything. It was awesome.

But blimmin’ heck it was cold.

It’s supposed to be Australia – a place to which my opinion has sole been formed by watching Neighbours, Skippy and Round the Twist. It is always sunny and warm. That is why people from the UK go there! You always wear ‘thongs’ (which still make me giggle) and short shorts and pretty summer dresses.

I was freezing at 14°C and wanted to do none of these things.

Socks, jeans, fluffy boots and a jumper were worn.

I am very much starting to worry about my imminent trip to the UK.

I am hoping that in the next 2 weeks I can absorb and store enough heat that I can then slowly radiate it back out throughout my 6 weeks in the UK.

Failing that I am going to hibernate until my flight back to the sun…..

If I don’t speak to you beforehand, have a lovely festive period and I will be back, blogging about my Pacific adventures in 2017 🙂

Helen, the jury have spoken and you have been saved…

Editors note: This blog was going to be a jolly tale of my time in Tokyo. Another instalment of my current series of: ‘live while you can’, ‘isn’t life great!’type vomit inducing drivel. Yes, Tokyo was awesome. But turns out real life in New Caledonia is just far more amusing…

Anyone who has been reading this blog for a while will be very much aware that aspects of my life are quite frankly laughable.

Not only is this down to the complete state of ignorance that I adopt as I bludgeon my way through this rather surreal existence, but also by the downright bizarre system that I operate in (country, job, bureaucracy) which has kept you, dear reader, entertained for the past year.

And the events of today have been no exception.

So firstly, let me take you back a few posts when I discussed my employment prospects for the next year. After a 30 second conversation with the bloke who is trying desperately not to be my boss, I learned that I ‘should not worry’ about my future employment status.

Okay then.

But of course this can be interpreted in two completely different ways:

1. ‘Do not worry, of course, you are going to be employed. Do you really think we would go to the effort of replacing you needlessly? That would take effort…

OR:

2. You don’t need to worry about working for us next year… Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

You see my dilemma.

In the meantime, I still seem to be on the staff mailing list and rather optimistically keep getting invited to meetings and training sessions. I also got sent some planning documents for 2017, so I assumed that everything would be OK/ ignored it in favour of strutting around Tokyo pretending I was on my Gap Yah…

However, time has now passed and I am very aware that I only really have 7 days left in the office until the end of my contract. I have heard nothing of the future and decided that my colleagues might need a helpful reminder that I still exist and that I am quite keen to continue existing for the foreseeable future. Preferably, a form of existing that elicits a regular wage packet. I decided to bite the bullet and attend another staff meeting.

I have been to exactly 4 staff meetings since February. They all pretty much go like this:

Enter room. Sit awkwardly on my own and try to make pleasantries in my crap French to a room of complete strangers. Colleagues clock I am English and therefore decide I am not worth/ too hard-work to listen to so go back to ignoring me. Meeting commences. I try my best to understand a veritable storm of technical and often argumentative French. I miss the point completely, and usually wait until it is obvious that we are allowed to leave (usually signalled by people physically leaving). Sometimes we have to vote on stuff. To date, my rate of understanding what exactly I have voted for tends to be about 1/5.

Before the meeting today I bravely go and talk to Mr ‘trying to not be my boss’ and he assures me that I should be employed (I think he had mostly forgotten about this) and that my contract should just roll over. It’s automatic. Phew! Problem solved.

However, on the way out of the bathroom, I bump into the head of department, and she drops this bombshell:

‘Ah good, you’re here…coming to the meeting? Well, I just have to explain….during the meeting we have to vote on whether your contract gets renewed. It’s just something we formally have to do, but don’t worry about it. You will, however, have to leave the room.’

So yes, you understand this correct: in order to continue to be employed, a large group of near strangers, whose only interaction with me has been the odd awkward meeting and occasionally witnessing me swearing at the photocopier, had to vote to save me.

These people have no clue about my ability to do my job or indeed know what I actually do, or probably even who I am (although I did wave helpfully on departure). If they have had the pleasure of meeting me, probably their lasting impression is that I am a blank-faced imbecile…..

…But apparently I am a blank-faced imbecile that warrants another year of employment because I seemed to be let back into the meeting, so I assume they voted to keep me. Either that or they were feeling particularly malicious and just wanted to inflict another hour of mind-boggling tedium on me before giving me the axe.

So hurrah, I live to fight another day. I rather feel like I have been on the x-factor – there are quite marked similarities between the voting procedure and I am feeling (marginally) more reassured of my future.

And so now I can (tentatively) go back to the very arduous task of being on holiday for pretty much the next 4 months. Photos to follow…..

Notes from Phil, the intrepid Pacific Explorer

Whilst I am zooming around the UK, Phil has been having adventures around the Pacific. Here are his notes:

So here it is, the guest contribution from the elusive Phil. Extensively mentioned in the other pages of this blog (and often misrepresented I would like to say – I won a number of the discussions on where to put things and the table did affect the flow of the room!). Helen seems to strike the balance of humour, insight and interest that lets face it, if you know me, I won’t! But hopefully give a picture of what the last month or so has been like for me on the road. I think she asked me to contribute mainly because she would have nothing to add for a fair while whilst lazing around the UK for a month. I am basically away from Noumea now for the best part of three months, by the end of which I will have racked up 9 countries (excluding transit countries, that would make 12) and 32 flights and no idea how many miles or hours on airplanes. I think that my carbon foot print will be bigger than China’s this year. First stop was Papua New Guinea (PNG). Fiji’s Nadi airport appears to have the monopoly on flights around the pacific so I boarded the flight to Port Moresby in Fiji. It was looking good the plane had wings, engine, appeared to have a captain (although he did look a wee bit youthful). However where was the inflight entertainment? What no TV with multiple options ranging from the latest releases to the Simpsons episodes that you have seen a thousand times? OK, so how was I going to last a seven hour flight? The answer in the Pacific is certainly not look out the window there is an awful lot of ocean out there and it basically all looks the same (the land makes up less than 1% of the Pacific ocean region). As an aside though I did think that we flew of some deserted island group and got all excited until 5 mins later I realised that we were in fact flying over the Solomon Islands. Recognised the capital and the port from all the time that our container sat in port there! The view at the end and start of the flights is amazing though, exactly what the Pacific looks like in your mind. Anyhow, without interesting views for the rest of the flight I am now racking up about a book a week. The work part to be honest will bore you, but will take tell you a few things that happened. I was lucky enough to see pearl oysters breeding. Apparently the way to get them to do this is shock them with heat and as a reaction to danger or whatever they start breeding (I am told a lot of animals do this with heat, maybe why polygamy is allowed in the Middle East?). I also saw mini Nemos, these were seriously small two day old fish and then some super cute three week old ones. The Wednesday was a real day of firsts for me. The aim of the day was to go out to sea in a fishing boat (see photo) and record the slopes and depths of the locations where we would deploy the tech. I started by taking some photos of the sun rise (we were leaving at 5am) and lathering on factor 110 (no kidding) suncream. Donning my most tourist/colonial/adventurer hat possible we put to sea in the open fibre-cast boat with a 40 hp outboard. A flat calm in the lagoon quickly gave way to open sea and not a lot until Japan. Exiting the lagoon the islands sink to deep sea fairly quickly and this means the small bait fish come up and consequently my first encounter with a school of 25 or so dolphins working up an appetite before going fishing for their morning breakfast. This was my first view of dolphins and as one surfaced about 2m from our boat was amazing. The guys in the boat didn’t really share my excitement my ‘wow dolphins’ met with ‘yeah they are always there good fishing for them’. Though I am not sure that they were the coolest thing that I saw that day. I found the flying fish mesmerising. Excuse me showing how dumb I actually am but I did not realise that they actually really fly, I always assumes that they jumped out of the water and more glided along, alas my stupidity they certainly did not. One almost landing in the boat gave me a fantastic view too. Shame that it means that they are under attack by something bigger! Leaving the main channel to the West I think that I spot more dolphins, once again the fishers that are with me are no they are pilot whales! Well at least I was close I guess. I was learning a lot by this point on how to spot schools of fish, but my eyes were in no way as good as the fishers I was with, they literally could spot a bird siting on the water from 2 mile away. This gave me my first opportunity however to try my hand at fishing and I actually landed a Mac Tuna. Catching the Mac Tuna finally meant that I can claim to have caught a proper fish – sadly the ones Neil and I caught in Vietnam really did not count as fish, white bait is bigger! The fact my other five fishing trips involved an awful lot more beer than fish is besides the point. So the downsides were that it took another day before I could sit down again, sitting (or rather bouncing) on a plank of wood for 10 hours left my arse like I had been booted up it my Arnie. Going out on the Kayak the next day was rather uncomfortable, but using my new found skills to identify where fish may be, current changes etc I managed to follow a school of fish and also get in the perfect position when a ray jumped out of the water right in front of my boat. We were asked to go to New Britain province to undertake an assessment of an aquaculture farm. Having arrange the tickets (and got up at 4am for the flight down) phoning the MD who we were meant to meet ‘sorry busy this morning how about this afternoon?’ As it turned out we did not actually meet him until the following day. Welcome to PNG! Deciding that we had nothing significant that we could do with our morning we had been advised to go and see the volcano. Which we duly hunted out. Rabal used to be a beautiful town until the mid 90s when it was buried in ash from a very large explosion from the volcano. You can still see the roofs of the buildings poking out of the ash. The ‘guide’ asked if we wanted to go and see the volcano closer, we thought no worries we have time until lunch. What he failed to tell us was that we were actually going to climb to the rim of the volcano. I became convinced very quickly that the ‘guide’ had no better idea of the route than I despite claiming to have climbed it 4000 times. Though no excuses for my stupidity (which Helen granted explicitly told me not to do anything stupid – don’t think this counted), as I slipped on a lose rock and gashed my leg open. With my trainers rapidly filling with blood and shock certainly setting in, Jaime did his best impression of a nurse wrapping the cut in his scarf ensuring the impact of the shock was more limited. The size of the cut I should have had stiches but knowing the saying widespread in PNG – if you want malaria go the hospital – I decided that visiting the pharmacy and spending GBP50 on hydrogen peroxide and banages was the way forward. So a good memento of the visit to that volcano, but still well worth the visit though. The other memories that will stay with me for a long while from PNG is the row upon row of oil palm trees, mile after mile of them. The lack of wildlife was so striking, no birds, lizards that I could see anywhere. I totally recommend PNG. Do not let the reputation of the country stop you from going. The people are largely welcoming and interesting. After visiting some friends in Australia I ventured to New Zealand. Which was as lovely as everyone says, although it was cold and largely wet. Good reminder of the UK. Being used to New Caledonia temperatures I was feeling like someone had put me in a freezer, even though the temperature was properly still double figures in the day time (just). OK, so I have got weak! The next stop on my grand tour is Tuvalu, this is also the final country on this blog. For those who don’t know. Tuvalu is a set of 9 atolls and is literally as far as you can get around the other side of the world from the UK. The UK being zero degrees longitude and Tuvalu main island being 179 degrees, one of the outer islands actually lies on the 180 degree line. It is going to be a mission to get back from here to the UK (as I have to go via Sydney). So reaching Tuvalu is certainly not a sense of luxury, the beds are foam ‘mattress’ (Neil you will remember this from the train in Vietnam though minus the pissing man). On the plus side there is air con and that is very thankful given it is 32 degrees and it is winter! As with everywhere in the Pacific, the people are totally lovely in every way and constantly trying to marry me off to a Pacific wife – apparently I can have Helen and a Pacific wife (although I think Helen may dispute this!).

**Interjection from Helen: definitely not OK – please choose your favourite explitive and aim it at Phil**

It is really striking how low the atoll actually is. It is so low (highest point is 2.5m above sea level) that half of it regularly suffers from sea water inundation when the tides are high. Virtually everywhere on the main atoll you can see waves crashing against the coast coming from the Pacific Ocean and, standing in the same spot, the calm of the lagoon on the other side. It really is that narrow. As a result the main events take place on the runway and surrounding grass because it is the widest point (and only open space) of the whole atoll. Rugby, football, volley ball pitches adorn the sides and end of the runway and the local game is played. This game appears to involve about 50+ people on each side throwing a large ball (read rock) at the opposing large group of people, I think if you catch it the other person is out but not 100% sure. Apparently it is a very dangerous game and people regularly get very hurt, needless to say not one I will be trying. The runway itself was used for the Queen’s birthday parade this weekend. Along with the Queen’s birthday honours presented, the police all the ministries also paraded, including construction whose ‘arms’ were long levels and hammers! There was a competition at the end for the most entertaining salute from the two schools and ministries. Oh also, it is the best place to get internet. This is the poorest country I have so far visited in the Pacific and you can tell this. Although being only one road it is a good road. You can still see some impacts of Cyclone Pam, perhaps the most worrying though is the leakage from the lagoon. The development choices that have been made in order for the island to live appear also to have compromised the long term viability of the island which is sad. Add in climate change and who knows what will happen. It is so isolated that food is now running short. The ships that normally bring food to the main island have been commandeered for the recovery and other purposes and then the outer island ships are not running either. Getting fruit, vegetables and meat is also difficult. The hotels, ministry and Chinese contractors have first dibs and then the rest of the population. You have to line up at 5am, put your name on a register and you will get what is basically a handful (if any). I really have enjoyed visiting both Tuvalu and PNG and well used to living out of a suitcase. But after nearly five weeks on the road I am missing my own house, cooking my own food, healthy food and hot water! The worse part of travelling for so long is a lack of things to do on the weekend as there is no work and no real entertainment activities. Oh and of course Helen 😉 who will return with her next instalment soon, so watch this space.

Photos to follow, but Tuvalu internet not really able to support gmail let alone uploading photos.

Pacific Life

Phil enjoying his brand new hammock…what else were palm trees made for?

Getting a job in New Caledonia

Before coming out here we had heard mixed opinions on the likelihood of me getting a job. We knew it was possible, and that other spouses had done so before, but it was a little unclear as to what kind of work I would be able to do without a good grasp of French. (We later learnt that they rate the chances of EU citizens getting employment at about 8-10%.)

Luckily having only finished my job at Martin Randall 3 days before we flew, I was still in a ‘work’ mindset and spent the first week pretending I was on an abnormally long prospecting trip…in my madness I even started writing a report and plotting opening hours, which in retrospect was rather unhealthy behaviour. However, this did mean that I quickly made friends with the tourist information and a nice woman suggested a couple of companies that may want tour guides. To my complete surprise, within the first week I had had a reply and the offer of an interview (well I say an interview: having talked to a man for three minutes on the phone in pidgin French he asked to meet me on a street corner outside the employment office at 10am on a Monday).

I bravely stood on said street corner for 15 minutes wondering what I would do if the guy I was meeting happened to turn up in a car – would I get in? Is the offer of a job worth the risk of being abducted? Would it be obvious if I ran away? I was greeted by a gentleman with the slight hint of a Mafioso, luckily sans car, and was ushered up a dark stairway into an office which definitely did resemble a tour operator. Phew. And I was offered the job. So next question: are you legal?

After a 15 minute conversation with the HR lady at SPC it turned out that no, I wasn’t legal to work, but yes if I figured out a rather complex, time-consuming process, I could be.  The goal was: getting me registered as a resident of Nouméa and setting up a company so that I could invoice people for freelance work. What ensued were multiple trips to the High Commission and numerous other bureaucratic organisations, all helpfully located at different ends of the city, often having to return to one with a document stamped by another (they really like stamping things here!) The whole thing rather resembled a weird type of scavenger hunt which included paying 3000F (c.£21) for a postage stamp and getting a police report (it is rather ironic that you now have to prove you are not a criminal in order to enter a former penal colony). With a large amount of arm waving, mime and a few choice ‘J’ai le documents, je voudrais un carte de sejour/ridet/timbre’ etc I managed to get the required documents (I think a few of them gave in just to get rid of me) and so as of the 8th March 2015 I have been in gainful employment, and have the invoices, pay-checks, spreadsheets and profit and loss statements to show for it.

So this is what I do:

I am now officially a tour guide for the city of Noumea and this is my transport. From 7:30am-10:30am I sell tickets at the terminal, hold signs in the air and give tourist advise to bemused Australians (‘why aren’t you French?’) and then, as of last week I ride around in either the train giving a tour or sit on our shuttlebus announcing the names of stops in English (apparently the tourists can’t deal with Ille aux Canards – it has to be ‘Duck Island’, and Baie des Citrons ‘Lemon Beach’).

I work with a team that is 50-50 locals and immigrants and we get by in a mix of French and English – I think I am now at the point where I can understand about 50% of the briefings and depending on how important the information is, they usually catch me up if I look sufficiently blank. (I have the whole ‘le premiere train partir au …’ down which does give me a little confidence.)

Working for a local company is interesting stuff – I am finding out more about the way things work here (there are apparently 7 big families that run Nouméa) and management styles here do seem to involve quite a lot of shouting and arm waving – I am also starting to learn some quite colourful French swearwords. There is a little of the mafioso in quite a few of my bosses…The people I work with are all generally lovely and rather forgiving of my attempts to speak French. Indeed, my friends, Quentin & Bryan have taken it upon themselves to further my French studies; Quentin drills me on grammar and Bryan is currently trying to teach me inappropriate language and chat-up lines. Bryan is somewhat of a character.

The one thing I cannot get over here is how friendly and welcoming everyone is. I now know everyone the works in and around the ship terminal and probably spend a good 15 minutes a day doing the compulsory French kiss-greeting (still seems a bit odd when it is your boss). Phil and I have been here sufficiently long now that people greet us in the street and we are recognised and remembered – the butcher at the supermarket even commented on my slightly improved French this week!! I even had a couple of the guys from work over for tea the other week which is really nice.

We really are starting to settle in.

Tijbaou Cultural Centre

Over Easter, I caught Phil up on some of the sights of Noumea as in his words ‘I have only really been to work since we got here.’ One of these was the fabulous Tijbaou Cultural Centre designed by Renzo Piano and opened in 1998. The centre was designed to promote and develop Kanak culture and houses exhibitions, theatre, music and dance events.

Moving to New Caledonia/ Our House

Phil and I are extremely lucky to have been provided with a house by his employers at an incredibly low rate of rent. However, prior to moving we were not given any clue about what this might consist of or where it might be. It gave a rather ‘magical mystery tour’ feel to our whole transit. This blog post is a bit of a retrospective view of our moving experiences to date, but has been fuelled by the very exciting news that our belongings should arrive during the first week of May. This will be the most exciting day ever…

Before moving to New Caledonia, Phil and I lived in one room of a converted warehouse in North London with 4 other fabulous people. Phil had built a mezzanine in his room so we effectively slept on a giant bunk bed with our assorted possession squirreled away in cubby holes to try and give the impression of space and airiness. Having lived a vaguely nomadic existence before moving in with Phil, I have very little of my own furniture and Phil’s possessions were largely begged, borrowed or free-cycled. Therefore the sudden prospect of moving to our own house together, but without the knowledge of what it might be, resulted in some rather interesting debates about what exactly we should take with us.

Two rather bizarre visits to IKEA later we returned with a lot of kilner jars (to prevent creepy-crawlies attacking my sugar), a crockery set, 6 wine glasses (an absolute essential), 2 bookcases and of course the usual array of utterly pointless crap that is the result of any visit to the shop in question. We really hoped that these, coupled with the little furniture we had and the slightly worryingly entitled ‘survival kit’ supplied on arrival, we would be able to fill whatever home we may inhabit.

This was my favourite IKEA purchase:

And just as the solution to the age-old problem of uninspiring ice cubes was found, all our possessions (including said tray) were carefully wrapped and put into a container which is currently somewhere between here and China. And then we were off on our magical mystery tour.

After a 36 hour transit Phil and I had given up caring about what would await us, so long as it had a shower and a bed. We were greeted at the airport by a smiling gentleman who took us to our new home. After an entertaining 15 minutes trying to work out which of the many keys opened the gate, and then which of two doors was our front door (for a while the only door we could open successfully was the door to the boiler room, which did at the time look rather inviting) we were in, and what greeted us was rather more than we had ever anticipated…So this is where we live:

A little bit on the blank canvas side at the moment, really can’t wait until the 7th May when our stuff should arrive and we can change that!!

Ouen Toro

Ouen Toro is the highest point in Noumea and also happens to be about a 15 minute walk from our house. Here are some pictures that didn’t make it to facebook – enjoy!