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!