Two weeks ago I went to New Caledonia. I slept. I ate. I mingled with French people. I also visited a small aquarium between two beaches, where nautiluses (living fossils) swim around.
Noumea’s a nice place. Almost everyone I met knew how to play chess and poker. Games are important when the people you meet can’t speak English.
The city was different… it smelled like Paris.
My camera isn’t used to sunlight so it saturated the hell out of my photos. Everyday looked like this:

(near the Baie des Citrons)
Some interesting people too. The first day at the hostel I had this conversation (imagine my broken French):
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“Hi. Are you okay? What happened?” I asked.
“This morning my cell phone was stolen. It fell out of my pocket and someone picked it up and turned it off.” he said.
“That sucks. My phone was stolen in Australia too.”
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“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked.
“Last night I left my wallet on the table outside. Someone stole 500 dollars from me.” He frowned.
“That really sucks. I hate carrying money.”
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I was playing chess with a baker and he walked past our table, looking like death.
“What’s wrong with him? Is he still sad about his cell phone and cash?” I asked the baker.
“No, did you know his father was in the hospital? This afternoon he passed away.”
“Shit.” I said.
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I don’t know how to console someone in French, and quite stupidly, I felt compelled to say something.
I said, “Tu n’as pas de la chance,” which means, “You’re not lucky.”
It didn’t make him feel better and made me feel like the king of understatements.
Life’s hard, eh?
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