The Sands of New Caledonia

Last Sunday I had to learn a few tunes to accompany a Bolivian worship service, scheduled for later in the afternoon. As I made my way to the cafeteria to use the piano and the wifi, I heard music. Good music. Jazz piano, to be precise. It's not every day that you hear jazz piano in Buenos Aires (they tend to prefer tango), and I figured someone must have been playing a recording.

As soon as I opened the door, I saw that I was wrong--this music was en vivo! There was a big guy with a beard sitting at the slightly-out-of-tune piano, his fingers dancing gracefully over the keyboard playing complex chords and delicate arpeggios--seemingly without effort.

He looked at me and smiled, and kept playing. I sat down at one of the tables, enjoying the music and wondering how long it had been since that old piano had gotten such a workout. When he finished, I told him, “Che, tocas muy bien!” I saw that he hadn’t understood, so I tried English: “Man, you play really well!” That clicked a little more.

Through a little more broken conversation, he told me that he was from New Caledonia, a small island nation near Australia and New Zealand. French is the national language, but his English was better than his Spanish (and better than my French), so that’s what we used. I pointed to my chest and said “My name is Chris.” He smiled and told me his name is Nulu.

I later found out that he was with a group of artists and musicians who had come to Argentina to do cultural workshops for kids up in the Chaco. It must have been very difficult for them to come to a country without knowing the language, and I was impressed with their willingness to travel so far to share their musical and artistic gifts with young people.

I had my laptop with me, which we used to teach each other about our respective countries. The pictures of New Caledonia were absolutely gorgeous--beautiful clear skies, white beaches, blue ocean--I must admit that from the smoggy metropolis of Buenos Aires, it looked like paradise. Nulu was equally impressed with the pictures I showed him of my friends and family back home in the US. When I showed him pictures of when I used to play in the Wisconsin Marching Band, he realized that I was a drummer, and he grabbed my arm and led me excitedly back to the piano.

He played a tune by Charlie Parker (he had figured out the sax solos), and I accompanied him, improvising a drum set out of my knees, thighs, and chest (anyone who’s spent even a little time with me has probably seen me do this). It was absolutely incredible—such a beautiful, unexpected moment. We started trading fours, and then had to end because we were both laughing so hard.

Nulu couldn’t stay long, but before he left, he took a coin out of his pocket and flipped it to me. I admired it for a moment, but when I tried to hand it back to him, he motioned that it was for me to keep. "Merci," I told him, recalling my long-lost French lessons, "Merci beaucoup." He smiled again. "De rien," he said.

So now I have a New Caledonian coin on my desk to remind me of this shared moment. It makes me think of one of those movies where the guy dreams about walking on the beach--a beautiful moment in which he feels alive and at one with the world. The alarm clock rings, and he is disappointed to be jolted back to reality--only to look down and discover that his feet are covered in sand.

Speaking of beaches and sand, New Caledonia is now at the top of my list of places to visit!