The Last Adventure

Well, here it is. I knew it would come this week, but I didn't actually believe it. My last adventure on Reunion.

Yesterday, Sarah (from Wales), Stephanie (fellow Nashvillian) and I decided that we wanted to see Cilaos, the most visited place in Reunion. It's the southernmost cirque, and is accessible by car and bus, but it takes a longgggg time to get there.

We left a little after 8am and took a bus to the big bus station in town. We thought we'd hitchhike to St. Louis, which is where the buses that run to Ciloas leave from, but we actually didn't get a ride, which is very odd for three white girls. I should probably blog about hitchhiking, but I'll give you condensed blog here, as I am running out of battery power.

When I first got here and learned that hitchhiking (faire l'autostop- isn't that adorable?) is a major form of transportation for people here who don't have cars (ie: study abroad students) I was a little hesistant. After all, hitching in the US is pretty much a death sentence, whether it be for the hitcher or the hitchee, ESPECIALLY for girls. Nevertheless, with a few seasoned students, I became used to the idea when we were running late, it was a Sunday or bank holiday, or we just were plain tired of taking the dang bus. I would like to be clear that I never hitch alone. People are very friendly on this island (more on that to come) and it is nearly always a good experience, if not an adventure. I've been picked up by old ladies, couples with kids, singles, moms, you name it. They are always very polite, and most of the time will take you exactly where you need to go in their quick little manual French cars. The fact that hitchhiking here is relatively safe is a really neat thing about being here. Most people are very curious about the US, the University, our studies, where we're going, and life in general. Plus, it's a great way to get to know some locals and practice French.

Okay, but back to our adventure. Since we didn't get a ride, we took two buses to St. Louis. When we arrived there, we had just missed a bus to Cilaos by about five minutes. So, we asked a nice young couple where the best place was to faire l'autostop. They pointed and gave directions, but since we weren't really in the most convenient part of town to get a ride, we were somewhat disheartened. About two minutes later the woman came back and said there was a local bus we could take that would put us in a better place to hitchhike. She even went and explained to the bus driver. So, we let a complete stranger put us on a bus to somewhere we didn't know. It was neat! Some fifteen minutes late we were dropped off at a random intersection. After about 10 minutes of no luck and tired thumbs, we asked a pedestrian if there was better place, and she directed us up the road. No sooner had we arrived than the first car that passed picked us up!!! It was awesome.

She was a really nice woman, about my mom's age, which made us all feel really comfortable right away. We got to chatting and told her about our travels, and the semseter, and Reunion. She informed us that winter officially started on March 23rd here, even though I got sunburned at the beach yesterday and it's still hot enough to sleep with your fan on all night. She also told us all about Cilaos (where she was born and ran a tourist gite, as a matter of fact) while she zipped up and over the hairpin turns and one-lane tunnels. It. Was. Awesome. She said we couldn't see much in one day; after all, it had taken us 5 hours to get where we wanted to go, and had to be back that night. She even offered us a place to stay in her gite for free so that we could properly see Cilaos, but we had to politely decline. She said that the next time we come back we can stay for free! I'm telling you, you meet the nicest people. I'm bummed I don't have the chance to come back.

The sleepy town of Cilaos is high in the hills of a collapsed, ancient volcano. I feel like a say that a lot when explaining Reunion, ha. But it is beautiful. Beyond it, really. You can't even see the top because it's in the clouds, which, in Reunion, are always perfectly white and fluffy and give just the right amount of coolness to a hot day. About 7,000 people in total live in the cirque, with about 3,000 living in the main city where we were. That means about 4,000 others live in tiny villages that you can't see from the main road. Reunionais are so hardcore.

We visited the church, which was founded in 1850, and took lots of pictures of the garden and the green, mountainous walls that surrounded. We searched fruitlessly for a crepe because somehow we had heard that they're the best on the island. We settled instead on buying some Cilaos wine, which is meant to be served as an aperatif and not as a table wine. I have yet to open the bottle, but I'll let you know. We found a yummy patisserie and then had some amazing cafe au lait before getting the bus back home. Although our visit was short, it was so relaxing and peaceful to be in the mountains, away from the noise of the city. I never realized how loud it was until I left.

We made it home around 9pm (after having taken 7 buses, a new record). I was quite tired for not having done much all day except for eat pastries and sit on bus, at a bus station, or in a nice lady's car. However, I realized that by doing this last minute excursion, and crossing "do Cilaos" off my list, I was saying goodbye to my island. I know I've said it before, but I CANNOT believe I'm leaving this week. Four days, and I'm off for Paris to begin my travels before coming home to the US.

I'm going to the beach (for my second to last time!) this afternoon to say goodbye to my Quebecois friends. Tonight, I begin packing.

8 Days is not a long time- or is it?

I leave my pretty little island in eight days for Paris. I am a huge melange (mix) of emotions right now, including, but not limited to: sad, happy, excited, remorseful, hungry, tired, confused, anxious, content and indifferent. You probably don't want to know, but here you go anyways. (I mean, I have internet access this afternoon; I'm almost obligated to blog :) )

I cannot believe my time is coming to a close. I have had an incredible time here. I've met some amazing people from all around the world, I've learned an entirely new culture and language, seen incredible sights, and yet I could probably still do more. The thing is, that I'm just so dang excited to experience Paris and France (this time for more than 6 hours) that it has become my new focus. So, right now, I'm slightly indifferent to Reunion. Sure, there are plenty of things I have yet to do. This is going to sound selfish I think, but my time here has suited my purposes, and I'm ready. It's all coming at a good time, though. I've done some good thinking and growing here, and while I love it here, I'm beginning to feel just a wee bit claustrophobic. I mean, I can spend only two hours on a bus that makes frequent stops and get to the other end of the island. Like I said, there's more to be done, but you get the idea.

Anyway, tiny things, I must admit, have begun to get under my skin. For example, all of the creepy or disrespectful men that yell or look at you like you're edible all the time. Or, the lack of easy transportation. I think the phrase "waiting for the bus" could be the subtitle to my entire experience. Warning to readers: selfish and spoiled American coming out: I can't wait to have my car again! Whew, I said it. Perhaps the little oddities that stick out to me really aren't that bad, but since I'm anticipating my return to America (Happy Memorial Day, everyone), they stick out even more.

I do not, in any way, want to sound ungrateful or disrespectful of Reunion. En fait, I really love it. Studying here has been the best thing I've ever done for myself. So, in the next week, I plan on seeing a few more sights, languishing on the beach for old times' sake, and starting to pack. Eight days to soak up Reunion, eight days until Paris!

Piton de Neiges (Peak of Snow- although there hasn't been snow there in years)

1:55pm, my desk. le 17 mai. One week ago, I was making some supper in the communal sixieme etage (6th floor) kitchen, making small talk with my neighbor, Flo. He said he was doing Piton de Neiges this week. I expressed excitedness for him; Piton de Neiges is the highest peak in the Indian Ocean at 3,070 meters (about 10,069 feet) and takes a solid bit of gumption and time to conquer. I told him I had not yet done it, but planned on it before I left (read: I was too lazy to organize the trip myself, but because most students claimed its views to be totally worth it, I wanted to go, but was losing interest). About three minutes later, Anjte, another neighbor said she had heard I was interested and that a spot in the gite had opened up in their group and would I like to come, because they would be leaving promptly at 7:05 am. The next morning. And so, that’s how the hardest hike of my life fell into my lap. So, after three hours switching buses that wound through tiny coastal towns and finally into Cirque de Salazie, we found ourselves in the tiny Creole village of Hellbourg (named after Monsieur Hell, an early explorer). We followed the directions (walk to the end of the main street, go left, and start scaling the walls of a giant collapsed volcano). I won’t lie that the hike was HARD. Our group of three Germans (Flo, Anjte, and Isabel), two Norwegians (Mari and Weslemøy) and I faced several hours of straight climbing. We chose the longer, but more scenic and gradual ascent. It paid off. We went through breezy jungly stuff (through which Weslemøy and I ate our weight in goyaviers) to a jungle of tall trees that made me feel like I was in California. The ground was spongy, and the air was moist, and the air was so undeniably fresh. Here, the kind of plants changed rapidly, like any rise in altitude in Reunion. I tried to memorize everything; the shape of the leaves, the color of the blooms, the consistency of the soil, and the smell of oxygen. Once again, I was thankful for my hiking boots on the slippery logs and rocks and roots. I kept thinking about my botany professor back at Maryville, and how he would have probably felt like a kid in a candy shop. After the forest we reached the wall that contains Salazie and makes it into a bowl shape, and we climbed stairs for hours. Hours. Long hours. Mini Reunion geography lesson: Piton de Neiges is an extinct volcano (since about 20,000 years ago) that dominates over the three cirques of the island (Cilaos, Mafate, and Salazie). If you google image search for Reunion, you’ll notice three crater-like bowls (the cirques) in the middle of the island and Piton de Neiges is the peak where all three meet. So, at the top, I could see all three cirques which was pretty impressive. Back to the adventure. Amazingly, we had reached the top of Salazie’s cirque walls, but couldn’t see anything because we were in/above the clouds. That was neat. It’s a very mystical thing and made me want to write poetry. I didn’t. I thought I’d stumble upon Mr. Tumnus, or something. I didn’t. At this elevation, it’s considerably cooler and windier. Our different paces had lumped us into natural groups of two, and Weslemøy (I still can’t say her name; my mouth cannot make Norwegian phonemes) and I were getting frustrated with the remaining time we had until we reached the gite, our destination for the night. Our mantra became “nous sommes presque là” (we’re almost there!) and repeated it through kilometers of head-high, scrubby heather bushes and a path of Arizona-red volcanic rocks. Finally, around 6pm, we found salvation at the gite (like a hostel for hikers- with beds, blankets, sometimes showers, and hot meals). It was amazing. After everyone made it in, we enjoyed a cup of hot tea and went to bed around 7:30pm. Not kidding. The special thing about Piton de Neiges is that the sunrise is reportedly one of the best you can see. And, since the gite is about 500 meters below the summit, hikers make a neat sight, rising at 3:30am or so to hike, like a fluorescent caterpillar, enduring the remaining two (very intense) hours to make the summit in time for the sunrise. It was really cold and sort of surreal to be wearing all of my layers on a tropical island, but the hour or so we spent oohing and aaahing and whoaaaing over the colors and clouds and view was quite unbelievable. I think it may have been the coolest thing I’ve done here. If there aren’t clouds, you can reportedly see Mauritius, the small island nation that lies just 137 miles to the slight northeast. Even though we didn’t get that privilege, it was a spectacle, nonetheless. After a petit repose at the gite, we descended through Cilaos. Once, when we got a little closer to the bottom, I saw what I honestly thought was a black bear- it turned out to be an ENORMOUS black dog. Since I’m used to hiking in the Smokies, I had legitimate cause for concern, but my European friends just laughed at my little gasp of surprise and full stop I made in the middle of the trail. A few hours and buses later we returned back home to St. Denis, tired, smelly, but oh so fulfilled. The rest of my pictures are on Facebook.
Countdown: 17 days until Paris!

The Beginning of the End

5:22pm. My Desk.

On Monday, Stephanie turned to me and said, "I feel like things are going to go a lot faster after this." Truth. That was Monday, and today is Friday. Someone really pressed the fast forward button. Allow me to lead you through last week and this week.

Last weekend a few friends and I had a farewell hike planned for our friend, Katha, who has since returned home to Germany. In planning this, we realized that our exact hike was the route and end destination to a somewhat famous reggae festival held every year. It's somewhat famous because Mafate, the cirque in which it is held, is only accessible by foot or by helicopter. So, it's remote, to say the very least. All of the bands (about 8 acts, I think) and their equipment were helicopter-ed in and about 200 reggae fans followed the not so easy hike to a spectacular night. We drove through Salazie, another cirque to get to our trailhead on Friday afternoon. It was basically a Mazda commercial, the way to road was cut through the hills. We hiked down the side of the ancient collapsed volcano, across a plain of dead trees, and descended to a river. Plaine des Tamarins was flat and had hundreds of uprooted deciduous trees covered in a pale green moss. I felt like we were in Lord of the Rings. When we finally got to the river, I was so thankful for my waterproof hiking boots (thanks again, Momma!). Crossing was no trouble, and the water was so cool and clear, I just wanted to exist in it. Ha, the way I read that just now makes it seem like I'm going to find a unicorn next, or something. I half expected to see a dinosaur or some other archaic beast, to be honest. I still can't get over how different Reunion is at every turn. I keep forgetting that altitude changes everything- weather, flora, fauna, temperature, views, moods... it's powerful after living the past few months at about 200 feet about sea level.

We roasted food over an open fire, shared a bottle of wine Katha generously hiked in, and danced with some dirty hippies to some kickin reggae in the village of Marla, which has a reported seven families living within its limits. On our hike out in the morning, we went a longer way back, and made a stop at La Nouvelle, another Creole Village in the cirque of Mafate. We went up and down and ultimately back up into the heights of Mafate. The land changed from a jungley-paradise to cooler and more Colorado/Wyoming looking, to pine trees that made me think about growing up in Upstate New York, and grass so green it looked like someone puked green Play-Doh all over the plain on which La Nouvelle existed. La Nouvelle looked almost too quaint to be possible. The tiny homes were painted brightly and maintained perfectly for a town that isn't close at all to anything most would consider "civilization." There was even perfectly spaced laundry on the lines outside a few homes. It was just surprising. Steph called it Stepford. After a nice repose, we gained over 550 feet in elevation in about an hour, which included a lot of water breaks, swearing (in French and English and German), and rest breaks in which we decided that we can't wait to hike more of this incredible island, despite our protesting legs and low oxygen intake. Hm. Maybe we said we wanted to do more because we were oxygen deprived. Or, perhaps it was the mega-cool factor that we walked from below the clouds to above the clouds in an enormous collapsed volcano. Maybe.

When we finally got home to St. Denis several hours later, we made a hearty dinner and explored the monthly Night Market of St. Denis. There are many different artisan marketeers and lots of Reunionais cuisine food vendors there. I was too exhausted and too broke to buy anything or eat any more, so Steph and I dangled our legs over the wall blocking the angry ocean from interrupting the night's spectacles. While there, we happened upon our friends who perform in the local circus, of the fire juggling, street-acrobatic, colorful baggy pants-wearing, and red squishy nose bearing persuasion. I seriously have the coolest friends.

To finish a not-so-brief post, if I wasn't on vacation before, I for sure am now. 11 of us rented a house in Petit-Isle for the past four days. I cannot even begin to tell you how nice it was to be in a real house, even if it was with a bunch of gross college kids for a few days. Insert some AMAZING dinners (we took advantage of having an oven and a dishwasher and many cultures represented), hours upon hours of techno and dance parties, and getting to wake up, drink eal coffee, and eat cereal on the sofa in front of the TV (France has some hilarious game shows). Now, I'm back, and Steph's still right: now the clock is ticking! 24 days until Paris! On y va!