In Noumea

It is Thursday 24th and we are in New Caledonia. We call the marina and arrange to meet Customs etc. but before we finish breakfast we are visited by a very smart looking inflatable boat carrying two men in bright red spray jackets - Gendarmes! Oops, we are anchored in a prohibited area and the French Navy wants us to move. Three hundred metres further and we would have been ok one explains. Well that's ok for him but has he ever tried anchoring behind a bunch of unlit yachts in the pitch dark in a strange anchorage? Besides, don't they mark things like restricted areas on charts over here?

Anyway, they are polite and we are moving anyway, so we up anchor and motor in to the marina where we tie up, take our 'papers' to the marina office and then wait on board for officialdom to take its course. While waiting we eat most things that are at risk of being confiscated but having been through this before we don't have too much left.

The immigration ladies are the first to arrive. Very polite, very formal in their uniforms and military issue boots, and very authoritative with large handguns strapped to their hips. Maybe they treat unwelcome visitors a little differently here than we do in Australia? Sarah is quite impressed and her good behaviour is assured!

The entry formalities here are well organised over all. If after two hours Customs haven't arrived, then they are not coming, so you don't need to bother about them. Quarantine takes ages though. After lunch and after a phone call from the marina office on our behalf, a rather frassled young French man arrives apologetically explaining that he has had to attend to thirty yachts so far this week. Busyness works wonders on reducing red tape it seems, and he quickly collects our vegetable scraps that we have purposely kept for him, takes one of the myriad forms we have completed, and departs. We have been declared 'clean', can take down our yellow 'Q' flag, and are free to roam.

First thing to attend to is Gypsy Hawke. They are on the same pontoon finger and we soon catch up and discuss our nocturnal encounter. Seems it wasn't them that we overtook. They had left on the same day but from Southport and didn't have a slow motor across Moreton Bay to contend with. When we called they must have been further ahead and on a more direct course. It was another boat we had passed. So, while we WERE gaining on them we had never quite caught up. Well, that certainly goes a long way to restoring the pride! Even more so when the owner confessed that after we talked on the radio they also considered the 'race was on' and did everything they could to stay in front. Would have been good to overtake them though........

Anyway, we are off on the town. The exchange rate is much improved on last time. 80 francs to the Aussie dollar, but none of the ATM's want to accommodate our cards. Then we find an automated money changer - just feed in the dollar notes and out comes the francs. Amazing! Do we have them in Oz?

The remainder of the week passes in a whirlwind. Shopping for fresh bread (French sticks of course), a visit to the chandlery for a few bits and pieces, and just a general look around town. Thursday night we visited the weekly festival in the centre of town. This week the theme was 'Sports' and there were displays from all sorts of sporting clubs. Boxing, rifle shooting, tennis, basketball, handball, scuba diving, baseball, and a very high rock climbing wall. Sarah almost made it to the top.

Then Friday we walked 3.5 km along the front to the Aquarium. Bays, boats, beaches and beach babes - wouldn't be a bad place to live actually if it wasn't so expensive! The Aquarium had a vast array of corals and tropical fish complete with Nemo, Dory, Gill and even Crush the turtle. They must be on holiday over here as well.

Then it was farewell to our faithful crew member Bob and of course we had to make a pilgrimage to that most sacred of destinations for children everywhere - MacDonalds! And would you believe Ronald, himself was sitting there in his clown outfit just waiting to welcome us. Wow, he must get around. There were several differences between Macca's in Australia and Macca's in Noumea though. Firstly a Big Mac costs approximately $10, even with the favourable exchange rate! Secondly, after ordering we found they don't take cards and sure enough we were all out of francs. Oh well, off to the ATM then back to the queue and finally, there it was, an authentic Macca's meal. One more difference, they all spoke French. Listening to Carol ordering MacDonald's in French was the highlight of the evening. But all ended well, the staff were totally confused, we got our Big Mac's and Sarah was happy.

While in the Marina a massive motor launch pulls in with an Australian flag. It is from the Gold Coast. Crewed by an Australian couple they literally cruise the world wherever the owner directs. When they arrive he flies in with his entourage for a couple of days and then flies back to the Gold Coast. Then off they go to the next destination. Just amazing! We made it from Australia to here and used just 40 litres of diesel but this boat has a fuel tank of 14,000 litres and uses 4 or 5 litres per mile! I sure hope he offsets his carbon emissions.......

Finally, the time has come to check out. The formalities for checking out are not nearly as well organised as those for checking in. We have to walk about a kilometre from the Marina first to Customs, then to Immigration and then to the Harbour Masters office, in that order. Of course, we forget that most government offices here close for lunch at 11.30am and don't open again until 1.30 or 2.00pm. We get things back to front and attend Immigration first no worries then squeeze through Customs by the skin of our teeth. But by the time we get to the Harbour Master's Office it is a ghost town.

Oh well, we have time so we settle down on the front lawn to wait. Not sure if we make the place look untidy or if the office staff feel sorry for us but it is only a short time until a French woman comes and summonses us and ushers us into an office with a Port Policeman. He is trying to start the computer (it must also have been to lunch) and then find another clearance certificate that he can use as a copy. After muddling through changing the details and inserting our particulars and then fighting with the printer, he finally produces a 'Certificate' and we are free to go.

I have no doubt that these procedures are critical in the war on terror, the prevention of people smuggling, stamping out drugs and eliminating piracy but just how they achieve these things is totally beyond me. When I consider that the number of boats through the port in the week while we are here is somewhere close to fifty, I can only wonder why they don't have a better system. Having a policeman who can't type edit someone else's 'Certificate' to make ours? Maybe Napoleon stated way back when that this is how it should be done? Bureaucrats the world over seem to excel in maintaining systems that do little more than waste time and create confusion but no doubt, somewhere, there is a deep and meaningful and eminently logical reason.

Whatever it may be, we have our precious 'Certificate' in hand and are ready to set sail for Port Vila, Vanuatu.