Thursday, October 20th – By 0930, we are anchored below the village of Drueulu on Lifou Island. With not a soul to be seen on shore, it is peacefully quiet, but it is the blue, blue water around us that catches our attention.
It is amazing how tired one gets from missing just one night of good sleep. On a lengthy passage, the body falls into a rhythm where shortened hours of sleep are tolerated, but that does not happen in one overnight passage. Should we launch the dinghy to explore as we usually do? No. With neither of us feeling 100% and a bit out of sync from the passage, we choose to lounge instead aboard Avante enjoying the unbelievable world of blue that extends around us as far as the eye can see.
Friday, October 21st – Enough with this lazing around! There still is little activity on shore, though we do see a few youngsters. The shore itself is a mix of sand and rocky ledges. A group of boys is jumping off one such rocky ledge into the water. The First Mate thinks this would be fun, though she fully realizes that the youngsters would be scandalized at such unwomanly conduct. Native women do not cavort in the water. In their modest “Mother Hubbard” muumuu-style dresses, they may walk along the water’s edge. Up to their knees is as far as we have seen them venture.
On shore, a wide boat ramp leads up to a paved road. Thinking a baguette or two from the local boulangerie would be nice, we walk up the ramp to the road and turn right toward what we hope will be centre ville. We cannot help but note how clean and free of litter the area is. Given the wind that almost constantly blows out here, this is an amazing feat.
Though other nations have colonized and placed their particular stamp on the many islands across the Pacific, the order and discipline of cleanliness that the French appear to have brought to the islands is remarkable. We noticed this in 2009 when we crossed the Pacific. From Mexico, not exactly a bastion of roadside cleanliness, we sailed to the Galapagos Islands. Every little village we visited in the Galapagos was littered and unkempt. The more touristy areas were somewhat clean, but one only needs to meander one street away from the tourist main fare to find daunting mounds of garbage and filth. Ecuador has its hold on these islands. Leaving Galapagos, our next stop was in the Marquesas, a group of islands in French Polynesia. The contrast was eye opening. We recall walking up the one main road in the Bay of Virgins on Fatu Hiva. Not only were we greeted with charmingly friendly “bonjours”, everything was so clean. There was no garbage lying around and little windblown trash. Yards were landscaped. People cared and took pride. What a contrast to what we had seen in the Galapagos and to every other island group we have visited where the French have not had or do not have current influence!
Walking down the road, the lack of litter and the obvious care taken is striking. We do not know what it is and how it was accomplished, but we are impressed never the less.
Other than the children on the beach and a man balancing a long pole with a machete strapped to the end to bring down a few coconuts, we see no one. This is a small village, but still a few hundred people must live in the area. Where are they? Not even the sound of a radio can be heard. The place is deserted. Is it a religious holiday? The Catholic church holds no answers, for its grounds are quiet and empty. A good-sized school complex is deserted. A small government office complex is closed. Aboard Avante, we have a list of official New Caledonian holidays, and today is not shown. We feel like we are walking through a ghost town.
It is, however, a well-preserved ghost town whose native island origins are readily apparent. Homes are predominantly the single or 2-room simple wood structures one sees throughout the Pacific, though there is a scattering of more substantial residences. Many are clustered in neatly fenced or landscaped family-style enclosures. A round woven or palm-plaited building topped with a conical roof is almost always to be seen. These are called Cas and are the traditional homes of the Kanak people. Many still prefer to live in them, though we have read that often they have been “modernized” with tile floors and electricity.
We continue on, hoping to find the boulangerie and maybe an answer to the quietness. The paved road ends as it rounds a point in the bay.
From here on out, it is hard-packed sand. An unusual looking monument draws our attention. It is quite striking and stands starkly alone on the edge of the road just above the beach. With what looks like a Bible lying open on top of a blue and white platform, it appears to have a religious significance. Located as it is overlooking the sea, in a more maritime community of traders and whalers, it could even have a nautical connection. Unfortunately, the writing is in the Kanak language, and we cannot decipher even the general gist of the missal. How we would love to ask someone about this monument, for obviously it holds a special significance to the people here, but there is no on to ask!
Retracing our steps back to the beach, a small convenience store attached to a butane gas depot has opened its doors. Maybe they have a baguette. No. Maybe they can tell us what kind of holiday this is. Not really. As has happened before, these rural village Kanaks cannot understand much of our English-accented French, and we cannot comprehend more than basic words of their Kanak-accented French. It definitely is a holiday, but beyond that we can determine nothing. Strangely, upon our return to Nouméa, no one there knew about any holiday on this date. We were told that it must be something of local origin, but no one had any answers for us. The First Mate must admit that one of her top frustrations on our travels across the Pacific is having so many questions about what she sees and not being able to get the answers due to language barriers and sometimes even a reluctance to appear too forward or inquisitive. This is their land, their customs, and she wants to tread lightly thereupon.
Saturday, October 22rd – Leaving our anchorage off Lifou, we sail the 50 nm over to the island of Ouvea. This is a nice downwind sail, and at first the winds are so light that we begin to worry about arriving with enough daylight. Fortunately, the winds pick up in late morning and soon we were flying along at 8 to 9 knots. By 1500, we drop our sails to motor through Passe de Coetlogon into the lagoon and anchor off Ile Mouly. This lagoon is approximately 20 miles wide and of depths that seldom exceed 40 feet. With a bottom of white sand and coral, the sun penetrates downward turning the water into dazzling shades of blue. Never have we seen the water as blue as this over such a vast distance.
Sunday, October 23rd –
We head ashore to explore. The Catholic church stuccoed a creamy beige with yellow and blue trim holds a prime position. Its rusty-orange steeple could be seen from well out in the lagoon. We walk up the row of column pines to the entrance, but the soft sound of singing cautions us to keep a respectful distance.
Further up the main road, we come to an imposing log fence. A sign at the entrance proudly states that this is the “GRANDE CHEFFERIE DOUMAI”. This is the home of the “Paramount Chief” of this area, and as much as we would love to enter and explore, we consign ourselves to glimpses through the front entrance and squinting through chinks in the massive wood posts that make up this barricade. We had read that the Cas of a chief was traditionally enclosed by fencing, but we had definitely not expected something as massively imposing as this. From the structurally sound condition of the fence and the immaculate grounds and palm frond structures we can see, it is obvious that here La Coutume, the ancient traditions, are as strong an influence as that pretty Catholic church on the hill.
The Captain is impressed with the amount of labor that went into cutting and placing these tree trunks. To give a better perspective to the size of this enclosure, he places The First Mate in the photo. She could not touch the top of the fence if she jumped!
We walk as far as the village cemetery which reminds us of cemeteries we had seen in the Kingdom of Tonga. Raised stone enclosures, draped crosses and loads of plastic flowers fill the grounds. The only things missing are the beautiful appliquéd quilts that the Tongans make and hang above their graves.
On the way back to the boat, we pass a lovely grouping of traditional homes or Cas. This could be a family compound or it could be a Gîte, which is a type of tourist lodging run by the Kanaks. These range in style from a rough Cas where you bring your own sheets, towels and food to far more luxurious accommodations.
The magazin is definitely one-stop shopping with all one’s needs from food to clothes to fuel and toys offered for sale. We wonder, though, how customers know what to ask for because no one is allowed beyond the long counter running across the front. Everything for sale is on shelves behind the counter. 
