South Pacific Cruise - Day 6 - New Caledonia, Isle of Pines
By Cruising With Honey - 18:42
Isle of Pines
I haven’t travelled much. And it’s not because I haven’t had the desire. But life - which is awesome by the way - has had other plans for me; school and straight to uni, career, marriage, closely followed by babies (three in three years!) and then more work and a Sydney mortgage.
The bucket list is long, and I’m confident that I’ll get to most places in my lifetime. Ecstatically however, thanks to cruising, a place I have pined over for a very long time, has been well and truly crossed off. I hope you enjoy reliving my experience through my words, as I try to explain the magic that is the Isle of Pines.
The bucket list is long, and I’m confident that I’ll get to most places in my lifetime. Ecstatically however, thanks to cruising, a place I have pined over for a very long time, has been well and truly crossed off. I hope you enjoy reliving my experience through my words, as I try to explain the magic that is the Isle of Pines.
As the nine-minute tender ride slowed down to dock at the wharf, I intentionally held back my excitement until I was on dry land. I mean, knowing me I’ll trip getting off and ruin the whole day. Calmly, I walked off the tender and, once both my feet were firmly planted, allowed myself to drink in my surroundings.
Walking along the wharf, I was beckoned by the singing and dancing of the local performers. It was hot, and our welcomers had obviously been out in the heat for a few hours. I was enthralled by the troupe and clapped a little too loudly when they finished. But where to now? We hadn’t booked a tour and so decided to follow the crowd (and the dogs).
A word about the dogs. At first I was very nervous around them, but they were sweet, gentle, and obviously used to visitors. I’m not sure if they were anyone’s pets, but throughout our day, we would often have a friendly pooch sit down on our beach towel or rest under the same tree. I still didn’t allow my kids to pat them as I was respectful of their personal space.
It’s difficult to describe the magnificence of this island without sounding clichéd. But as we slowly walked along the bitumen road, my senses were swamped with technicolour images. Surreal hues bounced off the water, in shades of blues and greens that could only have been created by waving a Pantone swatch book around like a magic wand, sprinkling colours, painting an image of supreme beauty.
Against the backdrop of the beguiling waters, cream banyan tree trunks emerged from roots deep in the shoreline, punctuating the skyline with gnarled fingers.
Walking along the wharf, I was beckoned by the singing and dancing of the local performers. It was hot, and our welcomers had obviously been out in the heat for a few hours. I was enthralled by the troupe and clapped a little too loudly when they finished. But where to now? We hadn’t booked a tour and so decided to follow the crowd (and the dogs).
A word about the dogs. At first I was very nervous around them, but they were sweet, gentle, and obviously used to visitors. I’m not sure if they were anyone’s pets, but throughout our day, we would often have a friendly pooch sit down on our beach towel or rest under the same tree. I still didn’t allow my kids to pat them as I was respectful of their personal space.
It’s difficult to describe the magnificence of this island without sounding clichéd. But as we slowly walked along the bitumen road, my senses were swamped with technicolour images. Surreal hues bounced off the water, in shades of blues and greens that could only have been created by waving a Pantone swatch book around like a magic wand, sprinkling colours, painting an image of supreme beauty.
Against the backdrop of the beguiling waters, cream banyan tree trunks emerged from roots deep in the shoreline, punctuating the skyline with gnarled fingers.
And, rising tall and proud in the distance, the jade-coloured conifers - for which the Island earned its name by Captain James Cook - grew in a natural picket fence, guarding this perfect paradise.
I pinched myself, it hurt; I wasn’t dreaming.
We had walked far enough. Dumping our blue-and-white striped beach towels, we stripped off in lightning speed, running into the water with our snorkel masks in hand. But before my toes could feel the cool water, my feet were consumed by sand that could not possibly exist. Had the world’s largest bottle of talcum powder exploded, blanketing the Isle? Deliciously, I dug my toes in deeper, igniting yet another sense.
For the next three hours we frolicked and snorkelled in Sacred Rock or La Rocher, delighted by the crystal-clear, salty water. Marine life of every shade and shape swam between the coral and our legs. I could’ve stayed there forever. It was thrilling, unexpected and truly mesmerising.
With grumbling tummies and dry throats, we sought out refreshments from the food vendors, set up nearby. Using the Aussie $5 and $10 notes I’d packed, we snapped up grilled sausages in baguettes, pomme-frites (hot chips) and fresh coconuts from the charismatic Coconut Lady.
As she sat on a small stool, hacking away at green bowling ball-shaped fruit with a machete, her musical voice and hearty laugh drew me in. I asked if she lived nearby,
“I live here! This is my beautiful home. I was born here.”
(hack, hack, hack - here is your coconut).
“Have you always lived here?” I ventured.
“I have been all around the world” she vehemently told the little group that had now gathered.
“I’ve been to France, Australia, America, South Africa, New Zealand… everywhere. But there is no place like my home, nowhere!
“Ile des Pins is the most beautiful, peaceful, place on Earth.”
Her eyes misted over, then she laughed and continued hacking at coconuts while exclaiming that a woman’s work was never done.
A quick time check, and I realised it was past 1pm. (Expletive) Time was zooming past and the last tender was at 3pm. Dragging my kids kicking and screaming to explore the beach on the other side, we stopped umpteenth times to snap Intagram worthy shots that needed #NoFilter. It was impossible to take a bad photo.
After picking up a few more souvenirs from the local vendors, we dove back into the cool water, once again enthralled by the powder-like sand. At one stage I looked over to see Mr Cruising With Honey rubbing the white sediment into his skin, repeatedly exclaiming, “It’s so soft!”
As I floated on my back, admiring the palm trees in the sky, and the Pacific Explorer anchored in the distance, I was still in disbelief that I was experiencing this magical moment. It was what I can only imagine heaven to be like, magnificent, ethereal and glorious.
Whoever first said that ‘time flies when you’re having fun’ must have made this discovery while on the Isle of Pines. Dragging my feet, I reluctantly boarded the tender to return us to the ship. Sitting on the top deck, I turned my head to savour every last second, willing the images to be burned into my memory.
Within minutes, the engines slowed and we were pulling alongside Pacific Explorer. Suddenly, a gust of wind picked up my daughter’s cap, flinging it high into the air as if a magical thread was pulling it back to the island. Among the shrieks of joy, I whispered to the wind, telling it to carry my message back,
“Keep the hat, but know that I’ll return soon to reclaim it, along with the piece of my heart you’ve stolen.”
