New Caledonia

Against the backdrop of dark, forest-clad hills, the tiny white gyrocopter sat in isolated splendour on the tarmac at the deserted Koné aerodrome. It was much smaller than I’d imagined. Like a toy. It didn’t look sturdy enough to take to the air at all, never mind with two people in it. But despite the reservations of the size of the craft, there were no nerves, just an overwhelming sense of excitement.

The French overseas territory of New Caledonia was our last stop on the South Pacific leg of our trip. We’d come here to see the Heart of Voh, the unique & natural formation that gained worldwide attention when photographer Yann Arthus-Bertrand featured it on the cover of his book ‘Earth from Above’. We wanted to see it in the same way, from the best vantage point, from the air. Though we’ve travelled in a few tiny planes on this trip so far & had scenic flights in helicopters and in a 4-seater Cessna years ago in New Zealand, we’d always had a desire to fly in an open aircraft; a micro-light or a gyrocopter……

I couldn’t stop grinning as I walked across the tarmac in my delightful hospital-style hairnet (health & safety regulations for wearing under the helmet!) towards the gyrocopter. I climbed into the back seat behind the perspex windshield & the pilot. I was strapped in, loosely so I could lean out either side, the camera was secured, helmet in place & earphones on & then we were off. We taxied onto the runway where the long black overhead rotor blades were started. Part plane, part helicopter, the take off was like the former though only a very short distance was needed on the runway before we were airborne & rising above the fields & trees & then out over the ocean.

It was amazingly smooth and, contrary to its looks, extremely stable. The sensation was more akin to helicopter than plane. I felt a wonderful sense of freedom in such an open craft. Feeling the air on my face, being able to lean out & look straight down to the ocean below with no obstacle blocking the view. And what a view. The colours were so vivid. A hundred shades of blue; from pale turquoise where the sand reflected through the shallows, through aqua, cyan & azure to a beautiful cobalt blue at the Oundjo blue hole, a natural basin 200m deep. In front of us & to the left the blue stretched for miles, ocean merging into sky at a point indistinguishable to the eye. To the right was the land where the sun shone through the grey clouds, sharp shafts of light hitting the forested hills.

Below, in the blue ocean we spotted the large round shape of turtles, the longer shape of a dugong with a calf swimming alongside & then a huge manta ray, wings extended. The dark shadows clear, though tiny. Coral reefs formed patterns against the pale sandy seafloor, the long finger of a man-made sandbank & channel struck out from the shore & white specs of miniature fishing boats floated 250m beneath us. It was mesmerising & really quite soothing.

Passing the small coastal village of Voh we began to approach the lime green plains of mangroves & from the flat expanse of green, the Heart of Voh emerged. An enchanting clearing within the mangrove swamp where nature has drawn a perfect cupid’s heart. Beautiful. An example of nature creating art far more remarkable than anything man could achieve. We circled the heart & luckily the sun chose just that moment to appear through the clouds to illuminate it.

Our 40 minutes was almost up & we headed back to the aerodrome where I had a fabulous view over the pilot’s shoulder & down the runway as we made the steep descent to a very gentle landing. Simon’s flight followed, though he had a whole hour. When we booked I thought I might feel queasy so elected for a shorter flight (memories of almost throwing up on our paragliding trip in Peru were looming large) – big mistake! He got to fly further out over the ocean & the Oundjo blue hole teeming with marine life.

It was the most incredible experience. I was still grinning as I climbed out of the gyrocopter. Simon was grinning as he climbed out. I’m still grinning as I write this. A huge thanks goes to Mum – if she hadn’t bought us the book, we’d have never known this beautiful wonder existed.

Unfortunately getting back from Koné to the capital Noumea proved less straightforward than arriving. Unable to book the return bus for the four hour journey we waited at the bus stop with a few locals, in the rain. It turned up 20 minutes late & full. “You’ll have to get the next one,” the driver unapologetically told us. That was in 2 hours! So we sat & waited in the rain for the next one to turn up, also 20 minutes late, but at least we could get on. It got further & further behind schedule as we travelled down the island. By the time we got back to central Noumea it was dark & we’d missed our connecting local bus to the suburb of Anse Vata in the south of the city, and there were no other buses after 6pm. Taxi then. None at the bus station and taxi apps don’t exist here. So a long walk into the deserted town, with heavy packs, to the taxi rank. No taxis there either.

Noumea, it seems, is still very much a troubled city since the events in 2024 where days of riots and looting in the centre of town caused mayhem. Shops and businesses were destroyed over days and nights of chaos as disillusioned Kanak youths reacted to a proposed electoral reform that would have killed their dreams of becoming an independent nation. The city centre has barely recovered. We’d noticed how dead it was as we trudged through streets supposed to be full of bars and restaurants on our first night here. Virtually nothing was open. It was the same now – a virtual ghost town, eerily quiet with doorways full of skulking dark human shapes.

We came across a cinema and asked the lovely staff to get us a cab. Thirty minutes later & over 7 hours since we’d left Koné we arrived in the southern suburbs and entered a totally different world. The contrast was stark. Plush hotels, open bars & restaurants & lots of people out for the night. Even the dreadful racket of a line dancing bar couldn’t detract from the enjoyment of a normal night out (though the exorbitant price was less enjoyable!)

It was fairly typical of our experience in New Caledonia. This is very much a land divided into haves and have-nots, where the French population seemingly enjoys a sunny pacific lifestyle and their ‘native’ Kanak counterparts (a majority of whom still consider the French to be unapologetic colonialists), live much less appealing lives. It makes it strange, occasionally tense and with a definite sense that there’s a lot of unfinished business still to be resolved…

Ignoring the slightly perturbing start to our time here, we’d taken our first scenic flight courtesy of our scheduled flight out to the tiny Ile des Pins off the south coast of the main island of Grand Terre. It was fortunate that we’d chosen this island to visit and not one of the Loyalty Islands off the east coast where an ongoing dispute over the move of all domestic flights to the large international terminal, an hour outside of Noumea, had resulted in all flights to the islands being cancelled. Of the dozen or so flights scheduled that day only ours was actually going.

As we commenced our descent into the tiny airport the sea changed from a deep sapphire blue to a luminous turquoise lapping against the white sandy beaches surrounding an island completely covered in trees. The island was not named after your average pine tree, here the pines are tall spindly Column Pines that poke out of the forest to tower twenty metres above all the other trees & are topped with strange triangular points like ready made Christmas angels.

Life on the Ile des Pines was peaceful. The majority of tourists arrive by ferry which only travels from Noumea once a week on a Saturday and making the return journey on a Sunday, so when we arrived on Friday it was pretty empty. The pristine wide curved beach of Kanumera Bay just a short amble from our bijou glamping tent was empty as we wandered along, our feet sinking into the cool sand beneath the palm trees. It was equally quiet for sunset drinks which was a rather damp affair in the evening rain & only one other table was occupied at dinner, which was a delicious and typically French affair with a humongous bowl of fresh mussels in garlic cream.

The following day we took a wonderful trip out on a traditional wooden outrigger pirogue on the gorgeous Baie d’Upi. We waded through the warm shallow water to clamber aboard the wide flat wooden deck where the white triangular sail fluttered, attached to a mast that was literally just a tree branch. The water here was crystal clear & often less than a metre deep. We could have easily walked alongside on the sandy floor. Instead we lounged in the pleasant gentle breeze as we drifted slowly across the bay between the karst outcrops, spotting dozens of turtles as they swam alongside. We watched as tiny petrol-blue fish darted in & out of the coral inches from our hands as we trailed them in the water & then at a shout from our piroguer we gazed in wonder as a manta ray, with black wings 2 metres wide, flew gracefully through the tranquil shallows. An amazing sight. It was so calm & peaceful, drifting silently by the power of the sail until the current grew stronger as the water deepened & the engine was needed. The breeze picked up as we ploughed through the water, the waves lapping over the green prow & the sail billowing above us.

Our sail came to an end at the edge of the bay where we paddled through deep, soft mud onto the shore & the start of a narrow forest trail that would take us to the Oro natural swimming pool. Through the hot & sultry forest, slippery tree roots attempting to trip us at every step, we emerged into the bright sunshine at a wide river. This was now the path. The water rose up above our knees as we carefully picked our way over the rocky bottom following the hand painted wooden signs propped in the water & onto the opposite shore a hundred metres downstream. Only a few metres further on & we came out at the simply stunning natural pool. White sand sparkled beneath the clear azure shallows that stretched twenty metres out from the shore before dropping steeply around a coral reef a few metres in front of the high, jagged rocks that formed the natural barrier for the ocean waves that crashed against them.

It was a beautiful spot for our picnic lunch perched in a small clearing under the shade of overhanging branches. Afterwards we snorkelled around the small but impressive coral in the natural aquarium where pale fish rested on the floor camouflaged in the sand whilst around them swam brightly coloured parrot fish, the ornate picasso trigger fish & some wonderful large triangular orbicular batfish. We walked back from the pool along another river path, this one a shallow, sandy bed that led out to the sea where the wind had picked up leaving the long stretch of beach. A very unappealing place to linger and such a contrast to the idyllic sheltered pool we’d just left.

As expected, the ferry had brought an influx of visitors & Saturday night at the camp was far busier. We no longer had the campsite to ourselves. Dinner was also much livelier and the place was packed. Tonight we sampled the island delicacy – giant snails. Served in garlic & herb butter they were delicious & massive.

On our final day, Simon decided to hike up to the highest point on the island, Pic N’Ga, a whopping 262m above sea level! From here he had 360 degree views across the island and its strange pine trees to the sparkling turquoise bays. I was quite happy enjoying the sparkling turquoise bay from the comfort of the sand, no effort required.

We left the idyllic beauty of the Ile des Pines on the busy ferry just as the sun was setting (typically it wasn’t raining that night), heading back to Noumea. Our first impressions of the town had not been wrong. The city was still absolutely dead. Everywhere shuttered, no lights, no cars, no people but for the dodgy looking ones roaming the central park. You’d think it was midnight but it was only 7pm. We walked around in vain for something that was open – a restaurant, a convenience store, anything. Google was useless. Nothing. All we could find was ‘Billy’s’, the local burger joint. It was marginally better than McDonald’s, just, but better than going to bed hungry, just.

In the morning we found lots of bakeries open (the advantage of a French territory – great pain au chocolates). But everything else was shut, again, and the streets were just as deserted as the previous evening. Luckily we got to the supermarket ten minutes before it also shut, early, so we at least had wine & cheese to fortify us for the rest of the day. They also advised us that it was a public holiday for Pentecost. An explanation for the quietness today at least. This wasn’t quite the bustling, cosmopolitan city we’d expected.

The following day and the city was finally open, if not vastly exciting. We visited the city museum, housed in a lovely colonial style building, that had a very eclectic set of exhibits & which strangely didn’t have anything on the recent past. It stopped in the 1970’s. When we asked the guide why this was, he said anything most recent would just be too inflammatory to include due to the ongoing political unrest. A very sad state of affairs. The town should have been great. A lovely harbour front, a central park & a lot of historic, attractive buildings, but everywhere an air of abandonment. We did find one bar with excellent craft beer & a couple of good restaurants, but these only opened a few nights a week, a case of safety in numbers. Daytime (public holiday aside) was more lively with many pavement cafes recreating France in the South Pacific with chilled wine, delicious cheese & excellent desserts which we happily took full advantage of.

We’d thought New Caledonia would be different to the other Pacific island nations we’d visited, but it turned out to be a very peculiar place. It felt far removed from the rest of the South Pacific. In some areas it felt like we were back in Europe, complete with European pigeons & seagulls, in others it was like a country with no real identity. We got a sense that half the population want to be in Europe & the other half want them to go. There’s an undercurrent of the unrest perpetuating everything. We did meet some very lovely people, usually away from Noumea, but it generally didn’t feel as friendly & welcoming as elsewhere. However, it was very worth coming. We had two incredible experiences, on the Ile des Pines & the Heart of Voh & the pastries were delicious.