Reset :: making a new life in the shadow of the old.

image via freeimages

About 5 weeks ago, we left our adopted home of New Caledonia to return to our native Australia. What has happened since has been at various times chaotic, exhausting, fraught, educational and a little lonely.

This isn't to say that seeing family and friends again hasn't been great. Sure, moving in with parents when you have 2 small children and a bucketload of huge life decisions to make isn't a picnic, but we've made it through that chapter fairly intact and the scars are healing pretty well now, thankyou.

The difficulty hasn't just been deciding on jobs, travelling long distances, being often separated from our kids, finding a house, moving, finding schools....it's losing, and then missing, a lot of our reference points that had become second nature and which we'd unwittingly become reliant on and even unconsciously looking forward to. 

I'm talking about boring familiarity of workplace, school routines, seeing friends, going through the domestic family motions of life. Of knowing that just about every day I could guarantee running into at least one, if not several familiar, friendly faces throughout my travels to go shopping or taking Jack to kini. Of knowing that I would be wearing either thongs or sandals everyday because the weather is reliably warm. Of knowing that many of my friends were pretty much living my life and I theirs because we're all there for the same reason and facing similar challenges.

But then you leave and there's no gradual transition. It was there. And now it's not. Now it's completely different. 

Hit reset, begin again.

And gosh, we miss our NC friends. A lot.

So we've found a job, a house, a fridge, our winter clothes and today, a school. At just about every topic we debated, thumb-wrestled, argued, despaired, rallied and finally decided (note agreement not always present. Relentment often is). 

The fear of making a wrong decision or being forced into a decision we didn't want to make has been a strong emotion lately. 

But then we remember that unlike tattoos, not all decisions have to be permanent. We have the power to make new ones, better ones, different ones. Our New Caledonia experience taught us that. It's given us the power. We do feel grateful about that and we talk about it. 

So we're slowly building a new life while reflecting often on the old. Comparing and contrasting the new with the old. Wondering when we'll get back. If this life can replace that.

We couldn't really visualise our future when we left New Caledonia. It was a jump into the abyss, hoping we would land on our feet. Despite things sometimes still feeling shaky, we probably have. We're making the decisions, finding new routine. 

But New Caledonia is still to fresh in my mind I think of it everyday. I wonder when the memories will fade. Hopefully not for a long, long time.

The calm and the turmoil.

Today is kinda an off day for me. Getting so close to leaving the island and things start to get a little pressured. Shipping boxes, selling cars, winding up school, closing bank accounts.....tensions become frayed with what to do, when, who and how.

I was feeling low this morning after I ordered two chocolate cakes at the local patisserie. The plan is to take a cake after lunch into both Nellie and Jack's class for a classroom farewell party next week, and I left the patisserie after a lengthy discussion with several staff about what size they should be. 

Finally we agreed (or I convinced them) that a '6 personnes' gateau will do the job for a class or 4 or 6 year olds.

I was driving away, thinking about how I need to organise napkins, plates, juice.....but I just felt sad. 

Just...sad. 

And the frustrations over moving, and the sadness of leaving made me decide to go for a drive somewhere new and quiet.

                                           

So I drove, towards where I hoped there would be a surprise church at the end of a long road. My friend Louise told me about how she found it some time ago and I had really wanted to find it too. So, with general directions in mind, off I set.

After about 25 minutes of driving through peaceful tribu,  over hill and dale, just when I thought I was on the wrong road - a lovely church appeared, poking it's tall steeple through the top of the jungle.

                                     

Unfortunately it was locked, but l'eglise de Tiaoué was just what I needed to get my mind calm enough, my thoughts in order and shake a little of the blues away.

I never knew that such lush valleys were so close to us, with beautiful creeks, idyllic cases, the occasional dog or goat on the road amongst a sea of jungle.

We leave Pouembout in exactly a week. In this turmoil, there can be calm.

The L-word, the G-word and me.

This morning I had to give myself a stern talking-to and push past the part of me which loathes goodbyes. 

The kids went back to school today for trimestre deux (oh, how I only just made it through these holidays!) and I had to meet the school director to give him our final attendance date and then run around to finalise the payment of cantine. And since my French is tres mal, it required meeting a friend to help translate.

Because of this, I had to cancel what has become part of my Monday routine: hosting drum lessons. Which meant a friend would host instead. Which meant I could have done my chores this morning and then gone home and pretended drumming has finished for me, given that it would be my second-to-last week, and I wouldn't have to talk about the L-word. 

Leaving.

And it's close pal, the G-word. Hello, goodbye.

I argued with myself in the car heading back from Koné, having just emptied my wallet of pieces and borrowed 300f from my friend in order to avoid writing a cheque which may not clear before we close our account. I could just go home. Make coffee. Quietly keep on with the packing.

Or I could go home, put my coffee in my carry-cup and just be a little late for practice. And have fun.

I chose fun. Yay me! And though the discussion around *leaving* and even more, what will we do/where will we live etc was prominent, it was okay. I suppressed the fear and anxiety. Filed under 'deal with later'. Great coping!

I was sad to talk about future plans for the group. To be sitting outside on a breezy, fine autumn morning in the back blocks of Koné, knowing it has finality which is right there. To be drumming well, finding my groove and be told that I will be missed. And to know I will miss this, this moment of doing something refreshing and joyeous and for no other reason than because I like it and dammit, I'm good at it. But it has to end. Bahhhh!

Leaving is hard and goodbyes a bitch because we don't want to fun to stop. Leaving is easy when there's no enjoyment. So it's a credit to New Caledonia and all the amazing people who have been part of our lives for the past 3 years that my gut response is to just pretend it's not happening and walk away and ignore the pain of parting.

I wrote a couple of years ago here about being on the opposite side, of having to say goodbye to friends leaving NC and returning to Australia. Now we are them, and I understand it better.

So I hate goodbyes but bring them on. Perhaps the pain is therapy and the tears help to wash it away. The talking makes it real so that I can't ignore it. And the drumming helps to find the groove that will transport me, and the beat will keep me going to the next adventure.

Our experience :: living in NC with a disabled child (part 4)

Here we are on my final post about our experience of being expats in New Caledonia and how we manage daily life with our six-year-old son who has Cerebral Palsy.

You probably thought I'd forgotton about this post, being the final one in this series. To be honest, I'd put it off because right now endings are very much front-of-mind for me. This week I've had a girly sook twice after dropping the kids at school, thinking about how our time here is ending soon. 

Ilot Maitre

Back to business. So far I've covered school, which occupies much of Jack's time, and therapy. Today I will finish off with briefly covering the general topic of accessibility on this particular French tropical island.

So, accessibility.

As I touched on when writing about school, most of New Caledonia is not built with wheelchairs and prams in mind. Think broken or non-existent paths, heavy doors, narrow supermarket aisles. One of our local supermarkets has an upstairs section with no lift access. So I can only go to this supermarket with Jack if laundry and bathroom items aren't on the shopping list. Or alone (which, let's be honest, is the preferred method of shopping when you have small kids).

Riding bikes in the tropic rain

I also discovered that I couldn't take Jack with me into the local post office. Once up the small ramp I am greeted by two heavy doors. While battling to hold these two doors open, which would be threatening to flip me back outside, I swallow down expletives as I try to push a loaded stroller plus a whining toddler into a space about 2 metres square, already full of a queue of people. Visiting the post office is another Mummy-only event.

I only know of a couple of walking, waterfall or lookout attractions which have paved or smoothed walking tracks but none outside Noumea. We've carried Jack into only one waterfall on the east coast, which is a shame because there are lots of stunning waterfalls in that region. 

In all the time we've been here we've not visited the iconic lookout Coeur de Voh (Heart of Voh), less than an hour from where we live. The image features in lots of tourist advertising for New Caledonia but Jack is too heavy to carry such a distance (I take solace in the fact that apparently it's not as good from the lookout and that you really need to take a helicopter flight to see it).

Beach wheelchair on Amedee Island

This is not a whinge, just a fact which needs to be understood and expected. It's a shame but there it is. We would encounter similar problems worldwide however I know that National Parks in Australia and many other parts of the world increasingly have wheelchair access to allow everyone to enjoy their beauty. I do hope this catches on in New Caledonia very soon.

On the bright side, destinations such as the Noumea Aquarium des Lagons and Parc Zoologique et Forestier have good wheelchair access. We also had a really great experience at Phare Amedee where there is a beach wheelchair available to borrow through the tour company which totally made our day (I wrote about that experience here). The glass-bottom boat and boards with viewing windows for observing coral and fish were also great. 

Front row at a local music event

It's always worth asking about access for handicapé or chaise roulant, most places will do their best to accomodate with assistance on and off boats, accessible rooms and alternative entrances where possible.

In Noumea, one of our favourite things to do is just walk the fabulous promenade. It stretches all the way from Baie de Citron to  Anse Vata and beyond. Any time of day this is easy to navigate with a wheelchair or pram (except for days where there is a swim or cycling event, then nobody can navigate it!). The beaches are idyllic and shaded, full of families enjoying the clear water. Picnics are everywhere. Groups of men play petanque and cafes are close to hand. We love to go out to dinner and then work off the icecream with an evening stroll, admiring the twinkling lights and spotting the occasional cruise ship leaving port. And it's totally free and accessible.

The Aquarium

We know that the world is full of obstacles for Jack. Some are small, which we will overcome. Some are going to be too big to beat. Others will take more effort, and with lateral thinking, persistence and team effort we can conquer them. This is life. Deep, huh?

Ultimately New Caledonia is a great place to visit or live for a while. I really encourage it. It has made us better people in countless ways exactly because it has tested us. I guess that must be a positive thing or I wouldn't be tearing up every morning at the thought of leaving.

The end is nigh.....

A few weeks ago, more than two and a half years since being in New Caledonia, a milestone occurred. One of my children was invited to a birthday party from a local kid. It was a modest affair with his lovely friend Felix and his parents were very nice. Even better for us, they spoke English, so conversation was easy and enjoyable.

The sad part is that we are at the tail end of our stay in New Caledonia. We expect to leave in only a couple of months as my husband's contract comes to an end.

As we get closer I feel more sadness and even a little panicky. It's been a challenging and unique period of our lives. We have been transformed from sheltered, myopic city-dwellers, our lives orbited by a cycle of long work hours, reality TV, local news and supermarket wars. We've become more aware of world politics, the reality of life on a south Pacific island, finding friendship, trying new things.

I've learnt to not be alarmed when a complete stranger picks up your baby and kisses and plays with them. We're confident that our kids are getting a good education at the local school, even though the infrastructure and technology is far less than in the average Australian primary school. I cherish the fact that Jack is greeted each morning by his friends with kisses or, as was the case yesterday, with nose rubs by his best friend.

I miss the aisles of fresh vegetables in Australian supermarkets, decadent with more that one variety of potato and with green vegetables luxuriating on beds of ice. Ice! But then, having only a simple selection of fruit and vegetables does make life easier. At least, dinner planning. The only fresh leafy vegetable in my local supermarket this morning was lettuce. So it's salad tonight. No poring over glossy foodie mags or trawling Pinterest for dinner inspiration for me tonight.

But we do have the luxury of local prawn farms. I can buy a kilo of frozen local prawns at my local supermarket (with the fresh lettuce) any day of the week for about A$25. The price is on par with Australia and the food miles less than a Melbourne market.

I've learnt to appreciate the struggle that visitors and migrants to Australia have when learning and understanding English. One of the reasons I find it hard to learn French here is that people speak so quickly and use a lot of vernacular. In turn, those local who speak English with me say I do the same. It's a hard lesson learnt and a habit difficult to break.

We've learnt to appreciate French wine. Why wouldn't you when it's cheap and sold in the supermarket? But the local beer......well, we do miss Aussie beer. But you drink what's available. And 'Number One' is stupidly easy to order.

But there's no returning to the navel-gazing people we once were. Being an international tourist doesn't do it. I did that. And I still didn't get it. But I do now. About how occupying all of my preoccuations to whether we need pay TV, or what haircut I should have, at getting the cheapest petrol, whether to buy a Thermomix.

The only pay TV available to me is mostly in French, I haven't cut my hair in 6 months, petrol prices are regulated here and I don't have enough storage for a Thermomix. But I do care that there is only a couple of orthotists in all of New Caledonia, that the world heritage-listed reef here is being rapidly destroyed (a fact ignored by most of the world) and that incest is prevalent in indigenous tribes here, as it is in Australia.

So our next venture, whatever it is, we be an ADventure. We will make it so. By our new outlook on life, our approach to the local community and our understanding of the opportunities life holds, no matter where we live.

It's been a while...

I have been a bad girl. Neglecting my blog for almost 6 months - the shame!

 

Although it's not like I haven't had distractions. We had a quick visit to Melbourne with Jack for medical visits to organise and do.  Nellie to be enrolled in school. My French Life articles to research, photograph and write. Perpetual internet hassles, which is one of the biggest distractions from writing a blog, where a quick post becomes a whole day headache. I've started drumming with a group of great people. My own health challenges. Blah, blah, blah.

 

 

But now we find ourselves at the pointy end of the year. School will be finished soon and I have to prepare, mentally more than anything else, that my almost-3 year old baby will be joining the chaotic hordes at the local school.

 

 

We had a couple of hours orientation with her in the 'petite maternelle' class a couple of weeks ago, the non-French speaking kid in the room. My head knows she will cope, but I will worry every day until I pick her up at 11.30 each morning. And then, when she doesn't need the afternoon 'sieste', she will be full-time like her big brother.

 

 

She will sing, dance, draw, play dolls, be assertive, follow the pack, eat lunch, make friends. I do worry about the toilets. Despite the fact that she is pretty much daytime toilet-trained, her first attempt at using one of the toilets was a fair disaster.

 

In the bathroom, which resembles a miniature prison toilet block (no seats, toilets all in a row with no privacy walls, round fountain-like washbasin in the centre of the room) she had trouble sitting by herself on the little toilet. Cue mess. Need to work on that. We have a few months.

 

 

Jack, on the other hand, as the only wheelchair using child at the school, will be using the canteen for lunch next year. Again, this presents mixed feelings for me. Firstly because it means he is cast into the crazy, noisy, messy school lunch system, which for a kid who can be picky occasionally, will be interesting.

 

But it also means that he is reliant on his carer to make sure he can manage it - seating, eating, cutting up food, taking his cup from home as he can't use the school ones - plus the toileting. It's a fair job.

 

 

On the other hand, it means half the wheelchair-lifting for me. I can't pretend I'm not excited about that. That bugger is heavy.
 
Perhaps the biggest impact that Jack will have on the school in the next few months is that they will be spending the Christmas holidays building a very big ramp for Jack to actually access the canteen. The school is built on a hill and the school buildings split across 3 levels. Jack's classroom is on the middle level and his carer has to push him up a large ramp to access the classrooms and playgrounds on the upper level.
 

The canteen is on the lower level, currently only accessed by about 20 steep steps. I will be tracking  progress of the new canteen ramp with interest. Jack's time at the Pouembout school will be felt long after he leaves, hopefully helping lots of other people access the canteen as well.

So, into the Christmas crazies. A plus tard!

A week in the life of Us.

A big week in our household this week. School has entered our lives. We are now one of the gazillions of families who juggle the school drop-offs and pickups, exchange pleasantries and sidelong glances with other parents waiting at the school gate and worry about school marks and nits.

Maintenant, je suis un étudiant

A milestone this morning as Jack, our 4 1/2 year old son, went to school this morning for the first time.

What March held for us.

Another month has flown past, bringing us to 8 months in New Caledonia. It was an eventful month, closing chapters and beginning new ones.

This was February

Somewhere between getting back from 5 weeks in Australia and now, February happened.

 

It seems to have gone very fast and yet we managed to pack a bit in, not that the photo evidence supports this claim.

 

We made some inroads - and have met a large roadblock - into getting Jack into the local school.

 

Our Baby Nellie turned 2 and celebrated in a harried-mummy style of a '2' candle on a chocolate eclair (they really do sell the best frozen desserts here). Before you get all huffy on me for being slack, I DID manage to make a fabulous princess crown for her, which, I tell you, will last a lot longer than any cake would have.

 

If my stitching holds, that is.

 

 

The big logistical event was the collaboration of friends and family to get Jack's first wheelchair over here. As soon as he gets into school we can give it some work. In the meantime we are pushing the walker (no pun intended) and most days harrass the locals in the supermarket. Several apologies for Jack's hoon noises, crashes with displays of tinned haricots and attempts at GBH (ankle-targeted) are hastily mumbled in bad French each time.

 

Rob made inroads into child labour dressed up as 'let's help Daddy wash the car'.

 

We had a daytrip up to Poingam, the northern-most tip of mainland NC. Population up there is very few, being about 5-6 hours from Noumea or 2 1/2 - 3 hours from Pouembout. The last parts of road are unsealed and herds of horses roam around, mostly in the middle of the road. The foal pictured was resistant to the idea of self-preservation.

 

It was also the month when Jack was given a 4-inch bruise on the arm by his devoted but brutal baby sister by a door. We witnessed all colours of the rainbow as it healed.

 

I hope your February was eventful and happy, too.

 

 

November wrapup :: in pictures

From top left: quilts a'dryin'; top right: movember daddy and jack in le meridien pool; jack and daddy eating crepes at la foa; licking the spoons; a pretty church in the mountains on the road to hieghene; daddy digs; nellie enjoying crepes; liam and nellie in le meridien pool; jack and nellie at the chook; jack and his self-portait; more quilts a'dryin'; the pouembout rodeo; nellie ready to go out for dinner; the hieghene chookie.

Now we are Pouemboutians - our first month.

Exactly one month ago, packed to the hilt in our rental car, we pulled into the driveway of our new home just outside Pouembout, New Caledonia.

I had spent the drive telling myself that this was the beginning of a fabulous new chapter in our lives.

"We have to be positive everyday," I told my husband in the car. "Nobody is making us do this: it's our choice. It's up to us to make it great."

Jack was desperate to go to the beach in our first few days.