Random post-holiday post #5

Long time readers will know I tend to buy odd souvenirs when I travel. I was quite restrained in Noumea, and not just because of the lack of ready credit.

The range of souvenirs available seemed to fit into two camps: brightly coloured tat (sarong or plastic dolphin, anyone?) or Okish stuff which turned out to be made in Indonesia. I did spend the entire trip lusting after ye traditional French school slates whenever I ran into a pile of them at the supermarket or stationery shop. But I talked myself out of purchasing one. Repeatedly.

There was a close call at The Tjibaou Cultural Centre shop where they had some rather nice T shirts. But they only had size XXL left so I was safe.

In the end I returned home with three local CDs, a book called Let me guide you in Noumea (an interesting mix of history and guide) and these:
A carved fridge magnet for my miniatures collection, a well-worn 100 f coin and the sexiest pencil sharpener I've ever seen.
I framed the coin and added it to my Shelf of interesting things. And I suspect the carving may not make it into the dolls house after all...

Random post-holiday post #4

OK, maybe Noumea in close up isn't quite the same as Wellington.

For a start, the architecture is quite different:

(I almost bought a book on New Caledonian houses but spending $40 on a book in French seemed like a slightly silly thing to do so I left it on the shelf)

This is the view from the bus stop for the local blue route bus which goes out to The Tjiboau Cultural Centre. I walked right past it the first time thinking I was in the wrong place...Here's a picture I took of a local restaurant for my cruise buddy Nancy:(No, the woman on the left didn't forget to change out of her nightdress before she left home: that's the national costume.)

Local graffiti I spotted on the walk up to The Tjiboau Cultural Centre :

And a local snail who seemed mad keen on following me:I always wondered why on earth French people would bother eating snails.But it would appear French snails are bigger than common garden Aussie or Kiwi snails. Which got me thinking: is this a native New Caledonian snail or did the French import snails from home to populate their gardens?

The cockroaches are massive, too. One kept running after me at great speed in a CD shop. I wanted to take a photo but I was worried that a) the owner (of the CD store, not the cockroach) would be insulted and b) if I didn't keep a close eye on the cockroach, it would run up my leg.

And, finally, here's a statue of a very important historical figure. Or maybe it's an ad for a local supplier of soft drinks...

Random post-holiday post #3

If you're going to Noumea on holiday it's a very good idea to make sure your credit card has a pin number. Otherwise you could, just possibly, arrive at the Youth Hostel on your first night, hand over your (nice empty) credit card and be told it doesn't work.

In this situation it's useful to have another credit card on you, even if you know it's pretty much full. Hand it over anyway and, if you're lucky, it'll be accepted. And you'll be using cash for the rest of your stay.

Not that I'm telling you this from experience, necessarily. Just saying... (as they say).

*Ahem*.

My birthday lunch, 2009:
Prepackaged couscous salad from the supermarket at the port. Approximately AU$3.11 and actually rather good.Especially as it was eaten here: I thought I'd have something special for dinner but the supermarket was closed when I got back to town in the afternoon. And so were all the restaurants in town. The corner shop just down from the hostel was open for a couple of hours in the evening so I bought some chocolate biscuits there in lieu of the french pastries I'd planned. They only had New Zealand chocolate biscuits. Of course.

Oh and the slap up birthday lunch with the boys planned for the 27th? It never happened as their ship dropped Noumea from its itinerary...

Random post-holiday post #2

Why did no one tell me that Noumea looks just like Wellington (NZ)?(View from my balcony)(from the top of the drive looking away from the centre of town)(and on the walk down into town)

Random post-holiday post #1

You may have been practicing your French before you left home.

You may be secretly pleased when people greet you in French as you think it might just possibly mean you look like a local (or French).

You may even be able to make yourself understood (albeit in a rather halting way) and feel almost smug.

But it's guaranteed that the reply you receive in quickly spoken French will be incomprehensible to you.

An example:

I say "Excuse me, where is the women's toilet?" (A fairly basic French question, learnt in third form or thereabouts)

The reply (as far as I can make out after they gave up trying to make themselves understood and escorted me there with much pointing)? "The women's toilet is closed for renovations. You'll need to use the disabled toilet but there's someone in there at the moment..."

Another example:

I've just trekked up the hill to the hostel on my first full day after a visit to le supermarché. It's about 23 degrees and muggy after the morning's rain so I change into my jandals to try and cool down before heading into the cool room to get some stuff out of my locker for dinner. While I'm waiting for someone else to finish up so I can get to my stuff this cute French chap (dressed in a lovely thick handknitted jumper) points at my feet and lets out a string of French that goes completely over my head.

Did he just tell me to move out of the way because there's a big hairy spider about to bite my foot?

Is he telling me it's against the rules to wear jandals into the cool room?

Perhaps he's admiring my choice of (black and white spotted) jandals and asking where he can get his own?

Or is he telling me I must be insane to wear such skimpy footwear into the cool room and don't I know my feet will get frostbite and fall off and I'll be forever stuck on the top of the hill?

Then again, he might have declared that I'm the woman of his dreams based on my choice of footwear and would I marry him?

I'll never know...

I got very good at using what was to become a stock phrase during my stay:

"Sorry, I understand the "Bonjour Madame, but after that..." accompanied by a Gallic shrug of the shoulders and that little pfft noise they seem to make and that I somehow picked up.

In my head was a whole other matter. I spent six days wandering round town speaking French to myself. I was impressively fluent as long as I didn't wander far too from the territory of "I'm hot/ cold/ happy/ hungry/ thirsty/ tired" or "I don't like that/ I love this/ I want to go here/ eat this/ see that."

Good thing I'm not going to Noumea for the beaches...