Settling into Island Life… One Baguette at a Time

Well, we’ve settled into island life in Noumea very comfortably.

It’s not exactly the holiday we had planned, but here we are making the most of this beautiful little island… while trying very hard not to compare it to Tahiti.

That’s easier said than done.

Especially when Rowdy’s first priority wasn’t finding the beach… it was finding a bakery and a supermarket.

I’m not exaggerating when I say we’ve now visited every bakery on the island and about fifteen supermarkets. (Yes, I realise we haven’t even been here fifteen days yet.)

Mission accomplished though. He has found the perfect baguette.

I honestly thought the man was going to cry. It wasn’t just bread. It was a spiritual experience.

Apart from eating our body weight in French pastries, we’ve been doing a lot of walking. In fact, so much walking that on one of our first days I flatly refused to walk home from the city and demanded we catch a taxi.

Did you know taxis in Noumea are harder to find than a parking spot at Bondi on Christmas Day?

We stood outside a supermarket for an hour and a half waiting for one. By this stage I’d well and truly blown a gasket and was ready to hitchhike with a shopping trolley when, like a mirage in the desert, a little green and white taxi finally appeared.

So, if you’re planning a trip to Noumea, here’s a little travel tip from someone who’s learnt the hard way: organise an airport transfer before you arrive. Taxis don’t seem to exist when you actually need one.

One of the lovely things about being only two and a half hours from Sydney is that it’s close enough for the family to visit. So our daughter and son-in-law arrived with our three gorgeous grandchildren aged six, five and two.

Some people might think inviting three small children into a small apartment for a week is slightly unhinged.

Those people would probably be right…

…but we absolutely loved every minute of it.

Our little beachfront apartment somehow worked brilliantly, and we didn’t even mind when all three of them climbed into bed with us at 5am every morning to give Mum and Dad a sleep-in.

Needless to say, SpongeBob SquarePants in French became part of our morning routine. Neither Rowdy nor I had the faintest idea what anyone was saying, so we simply made up the storyline as we went while we waited for the sun to rise. I’m pretty sure SpongeBob became a French detective solving underwater crimes.

Every day was packed.

Swimming in the river, where Rowdy taught Freddy how to skip stones.

Swimming in the crystal-clear ocean.

Snorkelling in search of sharks. (Don’t worry… we were hoping to see them, not become lunch.)

Boat trips to the nearby islands.

And discovering what might just be the best playgrounds we’ve ever seen.

Grandy took it upon herself to teach Pippy how to stand up on the swings while swinging. Because apparently “sit down properly” is overrated.

Then there she was sneaking a go on the flying fox…

Now that was entertainment.

Rowdy did mention he should probably notify the insurance company before I had a go, (after I broke my wrist in Tahiti last year) but I’m pleased to report that, despite looking like a baby giraffe on roller skates, no bones were broken.

Our little munchkins flew home early this morning, and goodness, the apartment feels very quiet.

We’re feeling just a little bit lost.

So naturally, we think the only sensible thing to do is head off for a very long lunch at what everyone says is the best French restaurant on the island.

I’m sure they’ll have baguettes and pastries and deserts, and champagne. The French know how to be decadent.

And if they don’t…

Well… there may be tears.