Having slept like never before on the night of our arrival here, we rose early to meet the Quarantine Officer, Melanie, who with great charm, friendliness and tact confiscated just about all our fresh food - meat, fruit, vegetables, even unpopped popcorn. The Quarantine regulations here are extremely stringent as they have no problems with crop and livestock pests, and like Australia, they are keen to preserve this situation.
So we found ourselves liberated onto the streets of Noumea on Sunday. We had a quick trip to the Marche to replace what the authorities had just taken. Prices here are pretty steep - we reckon that the prices for fruit and vegetables are at least 50% higher than in Sydney. The quality however is very good - they won't buy rubbish.
A sad feature of the streets here is the number of Kanak people, especially young men, who are everywhere lying around drunk or stoned or just mooching looking for trouble. In line with this is the fact that no position of significant authority in any office or government department seems to be held by a Kanak.
The harbour is spacious and the Marina is very large - berthing prices are similar to Sydney or Coffs Harbour. There is everything you could want here for the boat - good chandleries, supermarkets and trades - thankfully we have had no issues needing these things! However, the harbour water is filthy - it stinks like a sewer - truly awful, and once we have had a few days exploring Noumea and environs we are going down the lagoon for a week or ten days of exploring the islands and bays.
Today we are putting on the hiking shoes and walking over to Baie des Citrons where the "Nice" people live - i.e. the French public servants, doctors and engineers who come here on 2 to 4 year contracts at triple the salaries they would get at home!
Incidentally, we were lucky to escape with our lives this morning when we went to La Vielle France Boulangerie for bread, and Shauna asked for un baguette instead of UNE baguette - this offended the Gallic sensibilities of the proprietor who sharply rebuked her and muttered something about Anglais under her breath.
The traffic situation here is very similar to Paris - pedestrian crossings are seen as traps to herd walkers into easily identified target areas, easier to mow down in large groups. Traffic control lights are seen as optional advisories only, obeyed by the weak at heart. The preferred option as a pedestrian is to approach a crossing with apparent fearless confidence, pretending to be completely oblivious to the vehicles thundering down the road, and cross calmly and confidently whilst ignoring the pained angry epithets being flung at you from the vehicles. They seem to respect courage. So far.