- Noumea, New Caledonia
- Noumea Museum
- St. Joseph's Cathedral
- La Table
- Tjibaou Cultural Center
- Olympic Celebration
- I finally get my hammock
Pictures:
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| Tjibaou Cultural Center |
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| Jean-Marie Tjibaou |
Ah, Noumea at last! We are already in berth by the time I step out of the shower. I take breakfast in the mess, but find the sausage was freezer burnt and the eggs are undercooked (the whites are still clear near the yolk), and fix myself a bowl of cereal instead. Harvey is there, and we agree to meet on the gangway at 9:00, figuring the shops will not open before then. Eric has already gone ashore, eager to sort out his transportation situation, I assume.
Binangbang is on watch when Harvey and I arrive at the gangway. He smiles and gives us a thumbs-up as we take our leave of the vessel. it is a short walk to the gate (we are waved on through without the guard so much as asking our names - a sign on the window reads "Threat Level - 1"), then maybe a half mile to the city center, where are moored a catamaran ferry (much like the one which took us from Papeete to Mo'orea) and an enormous cruise liner, the Pacific Jewel, unloading her passengers - Australians, I assume from their accents.
Harvey has a mind to see the market, which he says is only open in the morning. I join him, but finding nothing to my interest, bid him good day and take off on my own. My first stop is La Musea de Nouvelle-Caledonie. They accept "The Pass", a single discount ticket to six attractions in Noumea, but don't yet sell it, so I pay the 200f admission. A melanesian gentleman, in his early 30s, stands by the ticket window. He is dressed in sandals, shorts, and a polo shirt, with a black fleece vest over it, sunglasses resting atop his head. He sees my camera bag and says something to me in French. "I'm sorry," I answer. "I don't speak French. Do you speak English?" "Only a little," he says. "You take picture?" I nod. He motions to a sofa by the door. On a coffee table sits a manilla folder containing a stack of forms, all in French. "What's this?" I ask. I can't discern his answer, for the thick French accent. "Do you have an English copy?" He shakes his head and repeats himself. "I'm sorry," I say. "I don't understand." We go back and forth a couple times before I finally give up and stand to walk away, refusing to sign a document I cannot read. "Okay," he says. "No pictures." "No pictures," I echo. Doubtless, the form was a disclaimer giving me permission to take pictures and proscribing the circumstances under which I could show them to others - I'd encountered similar stipulations pertaining to video recordings when I was a West African drummer and dancer - but I don't want to risk disrespecting a native culture just because I don't understand their restrictions.
The museum features artifacts from the various tribal cultures of the South Pacific. On display are intricate wood carvings used to decorate huts, including doorways, statues to be planted, statuettes, and rooftop spears. further down is a replica hut, built to a smaller scale so it can fit within the museum's two floors. In glass cases are decorations, costumes, and instruments used for tribal music. Along the wall is a case containing wooden combs, and I am struck by their resemblance to afro picks - a common hairstyle in Fiji, and not exactly rare in Noumea. Around the corner is a replica double-hulled canoe. Past that are various items for the care of infants - baby baskets, cribs, and such, along with several display cases featuring money - mostly beaded strings, but also some polished shells and rocks, as well as more intricate (and thus valuable) moneys. The common money holder was a piece of cloth, about six inches wide and maybe 12-18 inches long, which was rolled up and fastened by a bone needle attached to it by a piece of thread.
Off to the side is a special exhibit on the Vietnamese, who were brought over by the French for mining operations (according to Harvey, 25% of the world's nickel deposits lie beneath New Caledonia), and farther down are collections of farming tools and weapons. Large game is not native to these islands, so hunting was rare and limited to birds. The melanesian diet consisted primarily of yams and taro. A family of Australians stands by a case displaying weapons, carved and shaped to resemble the human anatomy. How would you like to be clubbed to death, with boobies?" one of the women asks, elbowing the young man next to her. "Better by them than that," he replies, pointing to a huge phallus-shaped club. They chuckle, and I grin. Aussies... and I get to live amongst them for the next twelve months.
Upstairs is more of the same, albeit from different island cultures. Some of them were more skilled craftsmen than others, in particular with fabric dyeing and pottery (Papua New Guinea stands out amongst them). At the end are spears and wooden shields with angry faces painted on them, and a display case containing a never-before-seen horn carved to resemble a crocodile.
Following my visit to the museum, I wander the streets, up to St. Joseph's Cathedral, where I meet Eric, coming out of the sanctuary, camera in hand. "Hello, Steven," he calls out. We chat for a few minutes. He will probably have dinner at the ship tonight, he tells me, but isn't sure where he will spend the night. I wish him luck and head back to the park in the city center. On the corner is a covered, open-air mall. I duck inside, looking for a place to eat, and finally decide on a place called La Table. Judging from the clientele, it appears to be a local favorite. I am seated by a short, thin French woman in her early 50s. I am the only customer she does not greet with the traditional French greeting - a light peck on each cheek - but she is friendly nonetheless. She steps into a back room, and soon after an attractive young woman approaches to take my order. She appears more polynesian than melanesian - tan skin, dark hair and dark eyes, with a beauty mark on the left side of her face near her nose. Her dress - yellow with purple flowers - ends mid-thigh, and she has a pair of very fashionable low-cut boots at the other end of her shapely legs. She returns to her place behind the bar to put in my order, thrusting her hips to one side as she rounds the corner... have I mentioned that I've been nearly a month at sea?
My lunch consists of a bacon cheeseburger with fries and a draught beer labeled 1664 - I am not sure if it is the Kroenenburg, but I'm not interested in beer at the moment, os I don't bother to ask. The TV above the bar plays a show on extreme sports - first BMX bikes on twin half-pipes, then people doing aerial stunts on jet skis, doing somersaults on waves you'd expect to see surfers riding instead. When I have finished my plate, the young waitress asks if I would like dessert. I ask for coffee - I can feel my eyelids getting heavy, though it is only 1:00, and she returns quickly with a cup of espresso. I take my time in sipping it, at first, then upend the tiny cup once it has cooled sufficiently. I wait another 10 minutes for the check before taking the empty cup up to the girl at the bar. She thanks me for bringing it back and rings me up. "Two thousand, one hundred fifty francs," she tells me. I hand her 2,500. "Keep the change," I tell her. Her eyes beam and she smiles a genuine smile at me. "Mercie beaucoup!" Three dollars on a twenty-dollar check, and she's happy about it. Don't people know how to tip around here?
Leaving the shopping mall, I catch a city bus up to the Tjibaou Cultural Center. For 210f, the blue line takes me all the way up to Tina peninsula, 25 minutes from downtown (counting stops, of course). There is much to see - first, the Kanak Pathway trail paved around the perimeter of the museum. At regular intervals are posted signs telling the story of Tea Kanake, the mythical hero of the Kanak people, whom the ancestral spirits taught how to hunt and fish and farm the yam and taro, and who later visited the land of the dead and was reborn - the story goes into much greater detail than I have written here. Off a short causeway from a small, tranquil pond, a double-hulled canoe sits in the bay. When I return to the pond a melanesian man, wearing a grass skirt and decorated on his left side with white paint, lays out a large woven mat. I return to the museum and venture inside.
The museum is divided into three "villages", each with three "houses" of modern design, but inspired by Kanak architecture. Some display traditional works of art and cultural artifacts. Others house the library and media library. Another room covers the building's architecture, displaying the three finalists' models for the museum. Another tells the story of Jean-Marie Tjibaou, for whom the building is named, and who was instrumental in peacefully securing New Caledonia's decolonization by the French government - albeit after his assassination. The remaining houses contain a small cafe, a conference room, and a lecture room. There are other rooms containing various art galleries, the most memorable of which pays tribute to Wilfredo Lam and Aime Cesaire and showcases works by local artist Teddy Diaiike and poet Paul Taneisi Wamo. With so much to see, it is small wonder I end up on the last bus out of the place - I lament the fact that it closes at 5pm. I bet it shines gloriously at night.
Returning to the city center, I find the park transformed, with music playing and various sporting events displayed. It is some kind of celebration of the olympics - the South Pacific weightlifters have a booth set up where people can attempt dead lifts. The New Caledonia fencing team has a booth set up allowing small children to try their hands at the sport. There is a rock wall for climbing, a boxing ring, and a booth hosted by the tae kwon do team allowing kids to punch and kick at pads. Further up are the food vendors. I linger around for a bit before setting off in search of... something - I'm not sure what.
I find a sporting goods store and buy a hammock for 2900f and wander around for a bit looking for a place to eat, before heading back to the park. Now two men are sparring in the boxing ring. I take some video footage with my camcorder. Now the stage is lit up and a man announces the fencing team, who put on a small show for the crowd. Next come the weight lifters, who bow as they are introduced, but leave the stage without an exhibition. Following a short intermission, the two kickboxers are introduced, and they put on a short, slow-motion choreographed display, which I tape. After them are two contenders in mixed martial arts, who put on a similar display. Then the trainer joins them on stage with a set of striking pads, and each takes his turn showing off punches and kicks. I get video of this as well. When this is done, I buy a sausage with grilled onions and brown mustard for 500f before returning to the ship. I try out the hammock in my favorite spot for a few minutes and send an email to my family before turning in for the night. It is only 2100, but i have had a big day and I want to see as much as I can on our remaning half-day in port tomorrow.
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