After miles and miles of sailing and always having miles and miles to go, the passage to New Caledonia would be my last ocean voyage on Urios. I would have been revelling in the significance of it all except that our passage started off so painfully that I was down and out with seasickness and couldn’t think about anything at all! We banged into 25 knots of constant wind and lots of big waves and swell. Everything was wet, salty, hot and uncomfortable. It was too bumpy to use the stove and we gave up on fishing because catching a fish would mean actually having to deal with it – so it was crackers and cold canned food for days. It’d been a fun downwind tradewind go of it most of the way here so I guess the ocean was just reminding us that we were sailing on an OCEAN after all! I think it was the first time I was happy that we weren’t heading to New Zealand because going 40 degrees further southeast into the wind would have been unbearable… We had a long five days at sea to travel 630 miles, and suddenly everything was the last of something. Even though I was happy for my last night watch and our last meal of Zwan, knowing it would also be the last time navigating through a pass or the last time taking the helm of Urios or the last time seeing the stars under this night sky was sad beyond words.

After so many bumpy days, I was happy to be arriving, but also wishing that the crossing wasn’t over quite yet. When you’re sailing, the wind, the ocean and your sails, and each day are 100% your focus, but when you land, admin takes over and life just gets busy with errands. We sailed into Havannah Pass, with a welcoming reef buoy on one side and a large rusty shipwrecked boat on the other. We’d technically arrived in New Caledonia, but there were still another 40 miles to go until we actually reached our port. So we had a full day of sailing ahead of us, weaving through channels and dodging coral reef until we got to the other side of the island to the capital of Noumea.

We heard on the VHF that we happened to be arriving in the middle of a professional kitesurfing competition, and we ended up practically sailing right through the competition. You can imagine the sight of these guys and their kites on the water as they harness 30 knots of wind when contests revolve around the “longest airtime” or the “highest jump!” Dozens of amazing crazy kitesurfers and their bright colored parachutes were dancing in the wind all around us. We were also kept quite busy dodging the crazy windsurfers zipping across the channel at the same time. It was quite the welcome!

Port Moselle was our final destination and it was obvious as we entered the harbor that this is the hub of the sailing world in New Caledonia. The marina was chock full of boats of all shapes and sizes, anchored in every possible spot. Some boats live there, some boats are just passing through, and other boats are just hiding out for the hurricane season. New Caledonia is technically right smack dab in the hurricane belt, but some sailors are willing to just take their bets on the mathematical possibilities of a hurricane and their ability to survive it. After seeing all the boats in the hurricane hole of Savusavu tied up to monster concrete block moorings with super thick rope, I know that everyone will be anxious and keeping a very close eye on the weather forecast until May when it’s safe to set sail again. We pulled into Berth #15 and suddenly this was really IT – the last time I’d turn off the engine on Urios, close the “vanne,” put away the sails, and make an entry in the logbook. It’s funny to think back to my first days on Urios when all the tasks and procedures of sailing the boat seemed so foreign and complicated, and now it felt like I’d done it all my life. Our last sail was a memorable one though and after the adventure of the last week, I was happy to be at a standstill again. And, it was such a treat to be docked in a marina again – hot showers, a market nearby, and all the fresh water and electricity we could want. And, no dinghy required! It’s the little things in life that make all the difference in the world sometimes.

New Caledonia is a slice of France in the middle of the South Pacific, populated with lots of French ex-pats called “Metros,” the Caldoche who are French descendents of the first settlers in New Caledonia (French, but not), and the Kanaks, the indigenous Melanesian population of these islands. New Caledonia felt more modern than any other South Pacific island we’d seen thus far, and Noumea felt like a city on the French Riviera, with its beaches, marinas and white beachside residences. Luckily as we headed out of city center, the village-y island-y flavor that I expected and hoped for still existed. We set off one afternoon to see the country in our white Jeep Cherokee, no plan in mind and just a map in hand – our modus operandi. The main island “Grande Terre” is large, with smaller islands dotting its waters, and the scenery changed dramatically as we drove along. It was lush and tropical on the windward side of the island, dry and desertlike with tall pine trees on the leeward side, and spotted with mountains and lakes in between. And it was obvious from the huge windmills on the mountaintops that they get a lot of wind! New Caledonia as seen from the sea was stark contrast to what we had been used to. The closer we got to Australia, the more the landscape resembled the Outback and less like the tropical island that it was! The landscape was sprinkled with red rock, brown scrub, black rocky cliffs, green pine trees, and beige desertlike open spaces. But New Caldedonia, being home to the world’s second largest coral reef, still had its lagoons with a hundred shades of blue. Because New Caledonia is the second largest producer of nickel, a bright orange mountain sliced open by mining was as normal a sight as an outrigger canoe. Wildly juxtaposing the heavy industrial mining equipment on the mountainside was the authentically Kanak Grand Case in the middle of a small village. The Grand Case is a traditional hut – the noblest and most important structure in a village, and usually the home of the Chief. It is a great feat of architecture – a dome of astounding heights and incredible durability made simply of sticks of wood, woven palm leaves, and straw. With two tiki statues guarding the entrance and a carved totem-like carving that sits atop the dome warding off spirits, it typifies Melanesian culture. The meaning and symbolism in every aspect of the building of a case from the materials used to its place in the village is an amazing mixture of culture, beliefs and history.

The history of the island and its recent conflicts are complex, and we would come to learn a little bit more about the politics and dynamics of this society by spending time with Gregory’s friends whose family has goes back five generations on this island. Being able to step into a real New Caledonian family home got us way beyond the Lonely Planet’s view of the world or the rumors we’d heard about the country from other cruising sailors. Fara and Jean-Paul’s home was perched on a hill overlooking the ocean. Their land was once used by the US military during World War II and you could almost see the cannons, lookout points and soldier bunkhouses as Jean-Paul described what the land used to look like during the soldiers’ occupation. Their home, with its open-air rooms and a traditional case that serves as their bedroom, is a wonderful combination of Caldoche modern living and Kanak tradition that reflects their life.

The society is dealing with similar assimilation and modernization issues that I think most countries with an indigenous population go through. New Caledonia has had its fair share of conflict in recent years with the killings of French gendarmes in a cave on the island of Uvea to the shocking assassination of peacemaker Jean-Marie Tjibaou. While the process is slow, New Caledonia’s expected independence from France will hopefully bring with it a sense of unity and identity. Thankfully the racial violence of the past has tempered a bit and awareness of human rights and land issues are embraced by artists as much as activists.

My two weeks in New Caledonia flew by all too quickly. Days were busy with making plans to go home, packing and trying to see what we could before it was time to go. As much as I wanted to, there just wasn’t enough time for cruising New Caledonia’s blue lagoon or sailing to its beautiful islands. That's OK though, the sailing portion of my grand adventure ended appropriately with an active ocean crossing. I’ll just have to come back one day to see the famous heart-shaped mangrove in Voh made famous in Yann Arthus-Bertrand's Earth From Above, and the beautiful Iles de Pins and the outer islands of Mare and Lifou!

I turned 32 in New Zealand, hang gliding from a mountaintop in Queenstown, and I turned 33 in New Caledonia, sipping Veuve Clicquot champagne on a sailboat in Noumea. Both celebrations were places that I never imagined myself to be, but both were completely appropriate to their time and place in my life. As I leave New Caledonia, it’s the peak of summer and the sun is as hot and as bright as the day I stepped onto Urios in Antigua last December. How far I’ve come! 10,087 miles is a long way, especially when you’re averaging 5-7 miles per hour! Looking out the plane window as I was flying back over the thousands of miles of ocean that I had just crossed made me realize just how small we were and just how vast the ocean really is. It’s crazy to think that I was out there at all! I’m full of amazement and emotions at what we’ve done, seen and achieved. To try and sum up the trip will be utterly impossible, just as trying to sort out the thousands of photos I have of the experience will be.