New Caledonia is a complicated place. In this very divided nation, we weren’t quite sure what we were getting ourselves into driving from the south to the north. We had heard the stories of a deep-seeded tension that started due to colonization not all that long ago. The south was entirely taken by the French, while the north remained the sanctioned land of the Kanak people—the original custodians.
Upon arrival, we made our way to a series of islands called the Isle of Pines. Touching down on the main island, it was completely empty. Not a single human was in sight, except for the woman who picked us up from our guest house and the dive guides who were appointed to take us on reef surveys.
Feeling like the untimely protagonists in a new horror movie, we set our sights on the deep pool devoid of water at the guesthouse. It was collecting a graveyard of pine cones from the infamous Columnar Pine (scientifically known as the Araucaria). The massive dining hall that looked like it used to host countless guests eons ago was worn and tired. It made the corona virus aftermath look even more apparent, as the island nation had been hit hard, like many others in the Pacific.
Scuba diving here was equally beautiful as it was treacherous—just the way we like it. Surprisingly cold waters and ripping currents made it feel like we weren’t actually supposed to be in this remote part of the world. And it also made the reef surveys particularly challenging to navigate. Taking cues from our time in Isle of Pines, we packed away our dive gear and headed to the forest for a change of pace. Our eerie ocean experiences were simply a foreshadowing of what was about to come.
The land further north was even less populated and even more desolate. We went from dodging cars on a major highway in Nouméa, the capital city where we flew into after leaving Isle of Pines, to not seeing a single one the entire way up the eastern coastline. Driving across the middle of the island making our way west, paved roads became less frequent and the winding ways started to cut into extremely dense forest.
After the long drive, we arrived at Hienghène—a small seaside village that sits next to some of the most amazing rock formations on the coast. Most notably was “Chicken Rock” that looked exactly like, you guessed it, a chicken! Given my obsession with chickens, this was a highlight for me. Besides that, this was also the gateway to Kanak tribes that were nestled deep into the lush mountains surrounding Hienghène. We met our guide, Davina—a 35-year old community leader of the 6,000-year old Tiendenite tribe—who was all about bringing people closer to her culture.
She showed us what she called our tribal accommodation in the heart of Tiendenite, which was absolutely perfect by our standards. It was a single room fitted with three thin mattresses on the floor. Our accommodation was situated not far from a flowing river and our host’s dining room. After having one of the best meals we could have asked for made with freshly plucked ingredients from her gigantic garden in the forest, Davina told us stories of her tribe’s past. But not just any tribal stories: Spirit stories.
French colonization and the segregation of the north and south due to Kanak uprisings and revolutions had caused the death of many indigenous people. The Kanak community never fully recovered from its devastating past, and this was made very apparent through their storytelling. The stories were detailed, deep and highly emotional, giving us the chills.
After being totally enthralled in Davina’s narratives, we retreated to our room with wide eyes, wondering what we might encounter in the night. It was said that the spirits come out around dusk to feed on that river running right through the village, and that no one was to go close to it or ELSE. After all these spirits have been through, they do not like being disturbed.
I woke up around 3:30am to go to the outhouse that was located down near the river. Despite my nervousness about the prospect of walking around here alone at night, I managed to muster the courage. On my way through the darkness, I slipped in the mud and fell hard. Covered in a thick layer of mud, I attempted to brush myself off and went into the covered hole in the ground to take care of business.
But when I came out, two shining yellow eyes were staring at me from across the river. Realizing this was likely one of the many nocturnal animals that call this forest home, I scrambled back up the muddy hill using my hands for support, and back into my bed like a terrified, small child. I must admit, it took me a bit to get back to sleep that night, still covered with a fine layer of mud all over my body.
The next morning, Marla woke up fully rattled about a dream she had. She had dreamt that the spirits were making us compete in games to leave Tiendenite alive. One of the games had us racing down slipping and sliding mud hills to see who made it to the exit first. I had sadly met my maker in Marla’s dream. Coincidence? I think not.
Here’s the thing we’ve learned about spirits in the Pacific: you don’t often see them, but you feel them. They play tricks on you, point you in certain directions (good or bad), or get inside your head. In our case, their presence was soon to be felt everywhere we went. When we were awake and when we went to sleep at night. We called this feeling the “heavy” of Tiendanite.
Even if you’re not a believer of spirit stories, this is one of those places that’s going to leave you second guessing. And if you’re still not convinced while immersed in the forest of northwest New Caledonia, well, it's best to just go with it. Whether or not you’re a “believer” or a “non-believer,” submitting yourself to the “heavy” can ultimately make your time that much more compelling and meaningful. The heavy feeling that was ever-present made it hard not to believe there was something bigger happening here.
Davina made our tribal stay just as serious as it was fun. She herself was quite the jokester, always down for a laugh. However, no matter how much our rational brain tried to fight it, we were always looking behind us or over our shoulders. Wondering if something or someone was waiting, watching or following.
We made it out of Tiendenite in one piece. We drove down the west coastline, cutting through the dense middle of the island. We finished our expedition stop satisfied with the heavy experience we had. But, for a few days after, the spirits were consistently showing up in our dreams and on our bodies. We couldn’t get that river mud off of our shoes and clothes, no matter how hard we tried. We came to accept that, for the rest of our time in the Pacific, the spirits of New Caledonia would be with us.
To be continued …
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