Running to Reunion Part XIX: Grand Finale

Friday October 21^st, 2011.   Breakfast would prove every bit as fascinating as dinner for this novice.  Everyone re-convened back in the dining hall at 7AM sharp, and given the disappointing breakfast experiences thus far I was intrigued to discover a hefty bowl at each place setting.  I kicked back and waited to be asked whether I wanted porridge or oatmeal when the guy across the table from me filled his bowl up with coffee!  Well, at the very least I could finally get a decent sized cup of joe, so I quickly followed his lead.

Breakfast Coffee Bowls??? 

Once again the main breakfast ingredient was baguette, but next to the plates of sliced bread were bowls filled with small, hard boiled eggs that were quite colorful.  I was unfamiliar with the markings of these eggs and asked what type of bird they came from.  I’m not sure if they followed the question I was posing, but one gentleman suggested something sounding like “cayenne” and they informed me this was the fowl we had consumed at dinner (they had called it “tiny chicken” for me last night).

 First eggs for breakfast...but what bird are they from?

Morning was awesome here because under clear skies you realized what stunning views were available.  The warmth of the sun felt wonderful and I returned to Cap Noir in hopes of checking out the trail a bit more. A more opportune time to be hiking, the parking lot was much fuller than yesterday – there was even a lunch wagon vending food up here.

 Looking to Le Port from Les Acacias

I started down the trail while the views were crystal clear, but recognizing I had just taken my last shower before spending the next couple of days heading home I didn’t venture far.  Managed a few pictures and truly encourage you to press on if you have the opportunity – what I saw was spectacular despite not meriting any mention in the guide book.  One may only conclude the views the guide book encourages pursuit of are stupendous!

 Views from Cap Noir under clear skies!

Made one last switchback descent back to the N1 and zipped into Saint-Denis, where I would idle away my few remaining hours in paradise.  It made for a nice welcome to receive another kind gesture upon entering a pay parking lot to stow my wheels for the final romp.  A guy exiting stopped and jumped out of his car to share the ticket he had purchased, with another hour remaining.  I thanked the gentlemen before walking back over to the best Western to get some coins – that seemed to be the only thing the meters accepted and I would need to purchase additional time after the free hour was up.

During my bonus hour or parking time I strolled downtown past some structures the guide book described as “architectural heirlooms”.  A few were interesting but nothing distinctive really caught my eye.  The best part of this walk was stumbling upon a street limited to pedestrian traffic and realizing it was Grand Marche, the retail cluster Jeff had been in search of during his final afternoon.  Since the time on my parking ticket was ticking away, I abandoned the area with intentions to return later for some gift shopping.

After plugging enough coins in for a ticket sufficient to see me through, I headed west.  I was on a loose schedule and with time to spare it seemed a visit to Notre-Dame de la Deliverance was in order.  Why visit another church?  I had to see St. Expédit.

 Notre-Dame de la Deliverance - home of St. Expédit

If you weren’t impressed with Virgin Mary of the Parasol, allow me to introduce you to the astonishing legend of St. Expédit --- promise I’ll do it quickly!  The precise origins of this questionable saint are unclear, though there does seem to be a direct association with the word EXPEDITE being stamped on a mailed package.  One attribution is that he was created by a woman as an expression of gratitude for having her prayers speedily answered to be returned to Reunion.  This creator is purported to have raised the first statue to the saint in 1931.

Whatever the origin, devotion to this home-made saint grew, much to the disdain of the Catholic Church.  I learned the skinny is that the church would prefer to ditch St. Expédit, but fear alienating his faithful.  He apparently maintains a following of folks seeking a quick resolution to their ills, though his reputation has been tainted by hints of voodoo creeping into the legacy.  In addition to the usual devotions presented at his statue at Notre-Dame de la Deliverance, rumors abound of dolls skewered with pins being tossed at the saint’s feet.

This was something I needed to check out, so I walked across town to the church.  It is easy to identify the church, colorful and sitting prominently on a hill.  An easy walk of fifteen minutes found me at the doorstep and in I went.  After my bad luck with other religious icons on the island, I was dismayed upon entering the church and after scrutinizing five statues, determining none were the saint I sought.

Fortunately I persisted and checked out the other side of the church (meaning the right side as you are facing it).  On this side I discovered the elusive saint, but oddly enough, he was clad like a Roman soldier.  Struck me as unusual attire for a saint!

 St. Expédit!

Although they weren’t conducting a mass, quite a few people were inside the church and I was stunned that no less than three ladies stood in front of St. Expédit reciting incantations.  There were a ton of lit candles and flowers surrounding the statue (no dolls engorged with pins and needles, however), lending a sad air of reverence to the scene.  A sister sat at a small table beside the saint, further compromising my efforts to get photographic evidence without offending anyone.  Seems silly to worry about injuring anyone over something which common sense dictates is ludicrous, but it was clear he was being taken seriously.

I palmed my camera after switching it on and surreptitiously hoisted it out of my pocket to snap off a couple shots by just holding the camera at my side.  Since I hadn’t even looked through the view finder, it was fittingly miraculous that I captured the icon on film.

Walked back across town to Grand Marche after St. Expédit and checked out a few souvenir stores.  This was fortunate because I had almost forgotten to score the requisite tacky magnet from Reunion!  Picked up one shaped like the island and checked that off the to-do list.  Got a bit disoriented in Grand Marche and wound up needing to head for the sea to find my way back.

No worries as I had plenty of time and my escape route offered a lovely walk along the ocean with a return to La Barachois.  Serendipity returned me to the diner strip so I capitalized on the opportunity for a farewell sandwich from my favorite eatery.  Managed to place my order for a steak panini and bottle of water without the waitress blinking, and when she tossed a line of French back I simply responded “ketchup” without understanding anything she said.  My first flawless restaurant experience and it was time to leave!

Took my sweet time savoring this last meal, and despite the clouds beginning to move in the temperatures remained idyllic.  As I watched folks passing by it occurred to me that most were French tourists.  Seems I experienced French culture much more deeply than Reunionnais across the visit, but that was still a positive and no reason for regret.

Walked about a bit after lunch, then it was back to the airport to turn in the rental wheels and bid farewell.  Playing the role of goodwill ambassador I donated the hiking pole I had purchased for the big run to the guy who inspected my car. If nothing else, I am sure my excursion vastly improved US- Reunionnais relations!

Unable to hike any more, I headed for home…

Running to Reunion Part XIII: Looking Out the Window and Dinner with Friends

Thursday October 20^th, 2011.   My last full day on the island began leisurely.  Arose at 6:30AM, packed up some loose ends and repaired downstairs for another terrific breakfast.  I noticed a strange fruit which can only be described as a giant, brown edamame shell.  I cracked one open and scraped the fruit off of the seed (which occupied 80% of the interior) and the taste reminded me of prunes.  Also snapped a picture and used that to identify this as tamarind after retuning home.

 Tamarind for breakfast

At check out, Claus was relentless in tempting me back to du Volcan.  Once again he pulled up the web cam for Piton de la Fournaise to reveal crystal clear views, but I was still unmoved.  After sharing that I was bound for La Fenêtre, Claus reinforced the value of his local insight and recommended a loop trail, Piton Cabris, which began right at La Fenêtre and took roughly two and a half hours to complete.

 

Bid farewell to Claus and his hounds and drove off, looking over my shoulder to catch once last glimpse of charming Manapany-les Bains.

On the road again and the driving went smoothly to Les Makes.in the hills of southwestern Reunion.  After Les Makes there is another ten kilometers of brutal switchbacks to La Fenêtre, (“the window” in French) this time weaving through lush forests.  By now it had been embedded in my brain that switchbacks led to wonderful lookouts, so I went merrily on my way, up and up.

What the road to  La Fenêtre looks like on the GPS!

Thankful for relatively clear skies, I tried to capture a bit of the grandeur of La Fenêtre.  Peering down into the Cilaos Cirque, this is an incredible viewpoint.  Clouds would accumulate here and there, but quickly disperse and re-appear elsewhere in the broad panorama.  If the enormity of the jagged peaks isn’t enough to blow your mind, the floor of this scene is sprinkled with villages tucked away, adding an intriguing touch.  What vignettes might be unfolding in those delightful, secluded hamlets down below?

 A small slice of the view at La Fenêtre

Time to hit the trail and stretch the legs.  Piton Cabris is a really nice loop beginning and ending at La Fenêtre, featuring a fair amount of up and down and I would characterize it as moderately difficult, but certainly nothing requiring any specific equipment or prior experience.  The trailhead begins beside a radio tower at the lookout and initially tilts sharply downwards.  Along this initial stretch are the best views into the Cirque as the trail eventually wraps back around into the woods.  You will arrive at a clearing where there are some benches and a railing at a lookout, which is where the trail splits.  I stuck to the rim side and was oblivious of the split as it is not signposted and easy to miss the alternative since you are enjoying the views in the opposite direction.  I would recommend sticking to the rim side because the trail soon begins a steep uphill which I remember thinking would be a bit challenging going the other way (downhill).

 View from Piton Cabris Trail

I believe this uphill leads to the peak of Piton Cabris, where there is another clearing and a covered picnic table.  Similar to prior experience on the island, the picnic table was occupied and my uncertainty around whether or not the trail would actually loop caused me to utter “La Fenêtre?” and point my hiking stick in the direction I was progressing.  The group responded with an assuring “oui” and I happily continued.  Fortunately I ran into quite a few other hikers and consistently received that reassuring response.

Beyond concern over the trail looping, I will note that there are no blazes and exceeding few trail markers for this trail, explaining my motivation to query each group of human beings I met along the way.  I was quite surprised upon suddenly finding myself back at the clearing with the railing along the rim because I hadn’t noticed the split.  The amusing thing was seeing a pair of ladies sitting there enjoying some lunch – I had passed them going the other way earlier and posed my “La Fenêtre?” question.  Clearly all roads led back to the starting point!  I asked if it was okay to take their picture and after some confusion (they thought I was asking them to take a picture of me), they happily agreed.

 Where the trail splits at Piton Cabris - the other path is between the benches

A quality hike with some exceptional views, though nothing exceeding what is available at La Fenêtre.  You might still consider it as an effective escape route to enjoy a lunch away from the crowds at the lookout.

Reunited with some helpful hikers I met going the other way on Piton Cabris 

Punched, the next destination, Dos d’Ane, into the GPS after the hike and was surprised to learn it was 55 miles away.  Time to get moving.  The first fifteen miles were a killer as I wound back down through the hauts, but the next thirty I got to breeze along the N1 at 110kmh --- the N1 is 1A with me!

It was 2:30PM by the time I arrived at Cap Noir, the lookout where another trailhead began for a hike above Dos d’Ane.  I had reservations in a chambre d’hôte not far from here for the night.  The clouds had rolled in with a vengeance and everything was fog.  Regardless, the parking area was spacious and peaceful, so I relaxed a bit and savored the serenity before beginning the Roche Verre Bouteille trail.

Cap Noir 

Another loop, this one was supposed to take two hours and reach a splendid observation point midway.  Once again there was a steep ascent at the start and as the clouds thickened my urge to continue thinned.  I could barely see a few feet in any direction and this was one of the times when you feel like you honestly could slice the fog with a knife, so there seemed no point in persevering.

 Foggy day on the trails above Dos d'Ane

Back at the car, the good news was that the GPS communicated my lodging was less than two miles away.  The bad news would be that it thought the place was a several hundred yards earlier than it really was.  When the GPS indicated I had arrived I was in the midst of a field, and continuing on for a bit revealed no structures.  I pulled into a farm and asked a guy, who gestured down the road and to the right, so I continued on and turned down a narrow alley that took forever to get turned around in.  At least in the alley I learned that it was still back on the road I had turned off --- I engaged another local and handed him some paper and a pen to draw a map.  From his detailed rendering I realized the first guy was only indicating my destination was on the right side of the road, not that I needed to make a right turn off of the road.

Les Acacias was shrouded in fog and the manager (owner, probably) spoke no Anglais, but I showed him my reservation and he showed me a room, so things went without a hitch.  My room was a small space with four bunk beds crammed in, so I was quite pleased to recognize I was the sole inhabitant!  There were about four other parties staying here, so as you might imagine they had a lot of rooms.

These rooms are a bunch of bunk! 

I sat outside in the common area and started writing in my journal, eventually entering into conversation with one of the other guests who spoke halting English.  It was fun to realize that all the other guests were French nationals here on vacation and hiking from place to place.  The groups were mostly comprised of middle-aged couples and I was inspired this sort of vacation activity had some proponents.

The cultural experience blossomed at dinner time.  There were a couple bottles of rum on the table when I sat down, and the first order of business was shots.  Then the table wine came out.  Everyone staying at the hôte was here for the meal and the conversation flowed freely, me not understanding a bit of it but enchanted – the odds of Americans congregating in such a fashion was beyond comprehension.

 Dinner with new friends at Les Acacias

Turned in with a warm glow of camaraderie surrounding me.

Running to Reunion Part XII: Not Quite Spine Tingling…

Wednesday October 19^th, 2011.   Today began brilliantly, with a wonderful breakfast laid out and waiting for me downstairs.  I leisurely assembled an agenda while eating, though the itinerary would have to brave an assault from Claus.  He showed me a web site monitoring Piton de la Fournaise and shared that today would be ideal for hiking the volcano.  Here’s where experience is so valuable – if only Jeff and I had known to consult this site before our two attempts!

Breakfast at Gandalf!

Claus dangled the bait and informed me that Pas de Bellecombe was only an hour and a half drive away, but I resolutely stuck to my original game plan.  Too much time had already been squandered on the volcano and I wanted to see more of the island. Appreciating Claus’ local knowledge I asked him how critical is was to get an early start, since the guide book harped on hitting the road bright and early, but it hadn’t seemed to make much difference.

According to Claus, the early warnings hearkened back to the days when roadways were less developed.  Over the last twenty years travel time has been roughly halved, so it isn’t as critical to bolt out the door at 5AM.  Apparently guide books haven’t caught up with the new reality, so let me pass along that nugget of wisdom before you lose a lot of sleep like I did.

The primary target today would be Grand Coude, a hamlet tucked onto a spine reaching towards the sky.  I was drawn to this destination by an aerial photograph I had seen several places, including right on the wall here at Gandalf.  The picture is magnificent, so let’s set sail.

Another twisty drive deposited me in the town of Grand Coude, where I parked and got out to walk about.  The town was as disappointing as the drive up - as inspiring as the aerial photograph is, you don’t get any sense that you are poised on this dramatic spine from ground level.  Without the scenery the town was, well, just another town.

 Walking about Grand Coude...

The only thing of potential interest was a sign pointing towards Le Labyrinthe en-champ-thé, a garden attraction referenced in my guide.  I steered towards the garden and pulled into a grass lot containing a single parked car, a young lady sitting beside it and reading a book.  I traced a path from the parking lot to a rustic hut and the young lady followed me – she was apparently the gate keeper.  The surroundings weren’t alluring and the woman confirmed she spoke no Anglais, but I still splurged and coughed up five euro to walk the garden.

Let's enter the Labyrinthe 

Clearly not worth the admission without knowing French, I am uncertain whether this place is a bargain even if you are familiar with the native tongue.  You basically wander along a few muddy paths, some fairly overgrown, with an occasional laminated info sheet tacked up.  There are some pretty specimens here, but nothing overwhelmingly exotic.

Le Labyrinthe en-champ-thé was touted as a good stop to check out tropical flora, especially tea plants (that’s what the “thé” at the end means, pronounced ‘tay’).  I seemed to be the sole tourist they bagged the entire time I was there, paying admission at the entrance hut, which was cheaply constructed and reminded me of childhood lemonade stands.  I believe guided tours are available, but obviously in French, so my only option was wander about aimlessly.

There were a few pretty spots here and it was peacefully quiet, the only sounds being bird chatter.  Although there were a few signs hanging about (some seemed to pose questions aimed at youngsters), but honestly not many, so perhaps the language deficit wasn’t as extreme as I feared?  The only tidbit I acquired was upon returning to the hut and viewing the wares they had for sale (herbs and teas) – there was the aerial shot of Grand Coude, and I managed to have the attendant show where we standing at the moment.  Alas, we were right in the heart of the dramatic scenery, but at ground level you’d never know it.

Gift table at Le Labyrinthe en-champ-thé - see the stunning aerial picture of grand Coude?

After Le Labyrinthe I barreled back down the switchbacks with eyes peeled for Petit Serre, a picnic area situated at a narrow point along the spine.  Although I never noticed a sign, I pulled off at a pleasant picnic spot which must be the place.  There was an observation deck on one side which confirmed you were on the edge of an enormous valley, though a bit stingy with serving up stellar views.

Petit Serre

Hiked across the street, where there were just a couple picnic tables and no deck, but crept up to the edge of another gargantuan valley.  This was so overgrown that it wasn’t even worth attempting a picture.  It was crazy realizing I was indeed perched on the narrowest of ridges between two precipices and fully unable to get any sense of the beauty.  Oh well, Petit Serre remains a very nice area to pause and picnic.

The "not as dramatic as the aerial photography" view from Petit Serre...

Got back to Saint-Joseph around noon, so it was going to be cars maximus for the next hour.  Somewhat wisely, for once, I ducked into a parking spot and set out on foot seeking a place for lunch.  Walked all around downtown and nothing struck my fancy, but just behind my car heading back out of town was a pizzeria advertising pork massala on their lunch board.  That sounded excellent.  For the record, there are a ton of pizzerias on Reunion – at least one in every little village and many more as the population center gets bigger.

I’d been around long enough to know the guy behind the counter was asking whether I was “for here” or “to go” and gestured I was staying put.  Once I placed my order I parked at a table in front of the window which had a lovely view down a hill towards a chapel.  Of course the counter guy rushed up saying “no, no” and re-directed me towards a table against the back wall that already had a single place setting laid out.

Well, the meal was quite delicious but I was disappointed at being deprived of my view.  Only one other party was seated when I arrived and nobody else took a table the entire time I was there.  The pizzeria seemed to thrive on take-out business, no doubt owing to their crappy seating policy!

Once lunch was down the hatch I jumped back on the N2 for a very short stretch (two blocks?)  and hopped back off onto the D3 to head for the hauts.  Touring Les Hauts de Saint-Joseph is acclaimed as a scenic drive, but that must only apply to passengers.  Once again the ascent into the hauts was a torture chamber of steep switchbacks.  Not that the driving bothered me, just the knowledge that the required focus was costing me some fantastic views.

I was looking forward to reaching Plaine des Gregues, because it is the highest village in the area with glowing descriptions.  And even with this morning’s mediocre museum experience, Maison du Curcuma is located here.  My guide book pointed out this place presented the science and history of fragrant crops raised nearby and used in perfumery: curcuma and vetiver.  The difference factor was that this museum was FREE so even if expectations weren’t enormous, the risk of disappointment was even lower.

Plaine des Gregues

Plaine des Gregues is spread out for such a small village.  I passed the town limit sign and had driven a patch before becoming suspicious of bypassing the museum, so I pulled off and parked.  The foot expeditions had been a positive experience, so I plodded ahead in the same direction I had been driving.  Much prettier when you can take in all the details, I was charmed by the village.  Saw and heard all kinds of birds, attracted by the lush gardens blooming from every household.  Households vibrantly painted in various striking colors.  One house had four or five extra cars jammed along the roadway beside it and as I approached, boisterous conversation confirmed some sort of happy gathering.  Bon ton roulez!

Wasn’t too far before I spotted a sign for my museum and after tracking it down to a turn off from the main drag I returned to my car to bring up the rear.  There was one additional turn, but Maison du Curcuma lies just off of the D32.  Entering my second tourist attraction for the day, a mystery quickly evolved.

Maison du Curcuma

I was almost ready to write Maison du Curcuma off as a total loser.  The entire operation isn’t much larger than a shack (though a colorful and pretty shack), and for all intents and purposes merely a retail outlet for locally grown spices.  The woman behind the counter was quite friendly but spoke no English, so I was confused over her gestures which seemed to communicate I should hang around.

So I hung out.  There were several rows of folding chairs in back, sitting before a small TV monitor where a video soon began.  It looked to be decently produced, but meaningless to moi and only lasted about five minutes.  I thought “gee” - all you need is a short video to magically transform a gift shop into a museum when the credits began to roll.  At the very end, however, the video stopped on a frame with two words: Francais and Anglais.

POOF!   Just add a video to magically transform a gift shop into a museum.....

Sure enough, the counter lady returned and fired the video up a second time, now narrated in English and even subtitled during interviews.  My attitude quickly reached positive ground and the video was quite informative, though I was befuddled: it was all about saffron.  What happened to the perfume plants?  I hadn’t seen any saffron laid out for sale, so I enunciated “saffron” to the counter lady and she gladly escorted me to a heap of bags containing red powder and labeled Curcuma.  When I stressed the word saffron again, she tapped the bag where it said “Curcuma Deluxe” and seemed to think this proved everything.  Well, this didn’t look anything like the saffron I had purchased for my wife in Dubai and was considerably less costly, but I purchased a bag to further my investigation after returning home.

A comedy of errors explains everything.  First, shame on Lonely Planet writers for failing to research subject matter.  Curcuma is the plant used to produce turmeric (both words have the same derivation), which happens to be known as “poor man’s saffron.”  As a cooking herb, the guide book was misleading to identify this as a perfume ingredient.  But the locals were equally inept, quite insistent that turmeric was the same thing as saffron (remember the video was only about harvesting and transforming curcuma into turmeric, but consistently called it “saffron” throughout, as was the counter lady when I explicitly asked for saffron).

Is it saffron or turmeric???

Bottom line is that Maison du Curcuma is an interesting diversion if you are in the neighborhood, but clearly not a destination.  Returned to Gandalf late afternoon and sat down in front of the PC for a bit, I hadn’t caught up with e-mail for over a week, and walked a few miles back into Saint Joseph, which permitted me to peek into local lifestyles.  A relaxed day that was badly needed.

Running to Reunion Part XI: A Colossal Day!

Tuesday October 18^th, 2011.   My first thought upon waking was to check out and make a quick exit before the morning rush got too nasty, but the front office was locked up so I changed course and walked downtown for breakfast.  To be honest there was an ulterior motive, because I had pored over a map of Saint-Denis last night and got a better sense of the city.  Noting that we had narrowly missed a mosque during yesterday’s ramble, I struck out in that direction.

Traffic was already crazy, so I continued with the satisfaction of recognizing the attempt would have been futile.  There were as many people as cars about, so it was fun to stomp around and take in the town.  A fair percentage of the foot traffic was trudging school students.  At the moment I expected them, but we had constantly seen children with backpacks EVERYWHERE on the island, at all times of day.  I figured part of the explanation for their ultra-marathon prowess was the number of miles accumulated during their school years!

Came upon a sweet little boulangerie, La Mamita, near the mosque and paused for breakfast.  My French remains pathetic, but I am glad to report ordering two varieties of quiche with ingredients I recognized: mushroom (champignon), and; ham (jambon).

The mosque was disappointing, mainly because it was wedged into downtown.  I’ve been fortunate to experience some spectacular mosques, but all that was visible here was walls and a single minaret poking above them.  Took a picture but can’t recommend this as a “must do” in Saint-Denis.

Made it back to the hotel a few minutes after 8AM and the office was now open, so I checked out and hit the streets.  Anticipation of nutty traffic made the exit bearable, and slowly I inched towards Reunion’s eastern shores.  Today’s first stop would be in Saint-Andre to right some wrongs.  Jeff and I had intended to visit the wonderful Hindu temple here during our first day on the island, a plan that was short-circuited by the flight delay.  Without a street number for the temple, I decided to park and walk.  It was an easy decision, for the road was right on the coast and I could walk along the ocean while seeing the town a bit closer up.

I walked perhaps a half mile before reaching the Temple of Colosse, and it was spectacular.  Can you say ornate?  The guide book suggested the temple was not open to the public so I took a few pictures over the fence and turned to leave.  Fortunately, a family of tourists I had just walked past while they were piling out of their car could now be seen strolling inside the gate, so I found when they had entered and joined the fun.

 Splendid Temple of Colosse in Saint-Andre

The only caveats to walking on the grounds are to remove shoes and do not enter the temple itself.  Beyond that, taking a closer look comes heartily recommended.  The original temple was built in the 1800’s, and its current successor was constructed by artisans from Madras, India.  The temple is dedicated to Pandialé, a Hindu goddess who walked through fire without burning to prove her virginity.  There is an annual celebration of this feat (usually in December or January) where followers of the faith do the fire walk.  Sounds like a hot event!

After returning to my car by walking along the beach on the return, I made for Bras Panon in search of the Cooperative de Vanille, a plant manufacturing vanilla that was mentioned in Lonely Planet. Once again the address was spotty, it was listed as being right on the N2, but I had only seen exits off the highway to this point.  Regardless, it was a leisurely expedition so I exited for the village, parked and set out on foot again.

This time my luck ran out.  Spotted no signs helping me out of a pinch and the three people I attempted to engage only spoke Creole.  I assume my hackneyed pronunciation of the destination is what caused the shrugs, the only response I received from all three.  Last shot was returning to the N2 and seeking a sign or exit, but there was nothing.  Well, guess today won’t be a plain vanilla adventure!

The next goal was Takamaka, home to yet another dramatic viewpoint.  I continued south on N2 until reaching the exit for D53 and it was supposed to be straight on ‘til dawn, or 15km, to reach the lookout.  It is funny how you grow accustomed to the treacherous switchback driving when climbing to the skies on Reunion, but this was practically second nature now.  Not that I was being careless, mind you, just noticing how my body would lean into the curves so fluidly now.

Because I forgot to check the odometer when I gained the D53, I began to fret.  I had been ascending for quite some time and noticing a turn-off where there was room to park, decided to make sure I hadn’t gone awry.  I zipped in and paused to consult my map, assuring myself there weren’t many options – the D53 was the only road and it dead ended at Takamaka.  While I was here, though, may as well get out to stretch and see whether there might be a view.

There was nothing to see, but my pause provided an opportunity for another car accompanied by a motorbike to pull in.  A young guy hopped off the motorbike and approached me speaking French, but we shortly sorted things out and switched to English.  He posed the same question I had pulled over to ponder, and I showed him my map to validate the hypothesis that we simply forge ahead.

Our little convoy pulled back on the road, went around the next bend, and there was Takamaka!  Literally a hundred yards beyond where we stopped to get our bearings, lol.

 Takamaka

You would think I’d grown weary of “yet another waterfall”, but each one I come across is so incredibly sweeping and majestic that it never fails to take my breath away.  Takamaka is no exception.  These clusters of waterfalls are painted on such a huge canvas (again, very reminiscent of Na Pali), plummet such phenomenal distances, and there are so many in a single horizon!

One of many gargantuan falls at Takamaka 

Triplicate falls!

By the time I got my breath back, snapped some pictures and returned to sea level, it was pushing lunch so I pushed on to Sainte-Anne.  There was a restaurant in the village my guide had recommended and that’s where I was headed, but unwittingly parked in front of another destination.  Eglise de Sainte Anne is described as “surprisingly extravagant” church in Lonely Planet, though after this morning I wondered whether the writers had ever checked out a Hindu temple before!  Rather incredible that I parked right in front of something so loud without noticing, but the façade was entirely cloaked by scaffolding and netting.  My best wishes for accomplishing whatever maintenance is being undertaken.

Walked to the restaurant from my parking space, seated myself and waited.  And waited.  Looking around I noticed other folks sitting at empty tables and blinking their eyes.  Re-consulting my guide book, I saw that although the food is terrific here, service can be spotty.  I beat a retreat and scored a sandwich from a trailer diner beside Eglise de Sainte Anne, intending to devour it at Bassin Bleu, another place I wanted to check out.

Bassin Bleu proved to be a lovely lunch spot at the southern end of town, quite close by.  You just need to turn at the sign off of N2, and it is not even a kilometer from there.  Like so many places on Reunion, Bassin Bleu is chock full of picnic tables and picnickers (sadly back in the States it is just the tables these days).  I sat down with my sandwich at one of the few available tables, enjoying lunch with crashing waves for a backdrop.

After finishing lunch I walked to the stream on one side of Bassin Bleu, the park’s main attraction.  Just upstream from where the stream empties into the Indian Ocean is a fabulous swimming hole – featuring crystal clear water and a convenient pile of boulders that is perfect for leaping off of and into refreshing coolness.  Like the picnic tables, the swimming hole was near capacity over the lunch hour and I sat down to enjoy the activity for a bit before moving on.

 Making a splash at Bassin Bleu

A bit of a longer drive between attractions after lunch, this time bound for Piton Sainte-Rose and the Notre Dame des Laves church.  When Piton de la Fournaise erupted in 1977, the lava flow miraculously parted right in front of the doors to this church (and even reunited after passing it by).  To be honest I hadn’t arrived here to sing hallelujahs to divine intervention, there was other motivation.

 Notre Dame des Laves, where a lava flow parted and went around the church!

I really came to witness La Vierge au Parasol – a statue of the Virgin Mary wielding an umbrella to fend off lava!  While the church is somewhat interesting, it was pretty much what you expected to see, and I was disappointed by being unable to pin down the Virgin Mary of the Parasol.  Eventually I came upon a pedestal with nothing on top, and scrutinizing the plaque on the base revealed the tell-tale word “parasol”.   Either Mary’s “rain” had ended, or she had been hauled off for maintenance like Eglise de Sainte Anne.  Chrisitanity seemed to be getting an extreme make-over here on Reunion’s eastern shore!

After Piton Sainte-Rose you reach the southeastern corner of the island, an area dominated by active lava flows.  Obviously there isn’t much around, but surprisingly I passed through several small communities in this region known as Le Grand Brûlé (the “great burnt”).  I was really glad I decide to wheel through this wasteland because amidst all the desolation I stumbled upon the Virgin Mary with a Parasol!

Virgin Mary with a Parasol in Le Grand Brûlé  

She was all by her lonesome off the side of the road in an expansive lava field.  No church to protect, or anything at all really, but there she stood bravely sporting her protective parasol.  I’m not certain what transpired to have relocated out here, but her devoted followers were nonplussed.  As I scaled the steps up to her new stomping grounds, I could hear incantations being recited by a group of five ladies sitting in front of Mary.

The tables were turned and I honestly became solemn in the face of something I had approached as a joke.  Tons of flowers and other devotions were heaped at Mary’s feet and circled the entire base of the statue.  I departed feeling my silly desire to track down the elusive Virgin Mary of the Parasol may have been a personal “rain of error”.

Driving through Le Grand Brûlé there are many turn offs to park and gaze upon the massive lava fields, and it is astonishing to see but difficult to capture with a camera.  I will share that witnessing this spectacular re-shaping of the earth’s surface is heady stuff and you I found myself proceeding with reverence for the majesty of Mother Nature.  By sheer coincidence I realized I had been wearing my “Red Dirt Shirt” from Hawaii, which was perfect!

 Le Grand Brûlé

I regained civilization upon entering Saint-Philippe, one of the larger communities along the southern coast.  Once again I parked and began walking, discovering a beach with magnificent breaking waves.  Didn’t discover much else, except, of course, more students busily marching somewhere.

Just beyond Saint-Philippe was another awesome beach.  As always there was nobody daring to enter the perilous waters at Puits de Anglais, but what a dramatic show.  There is a nice park here with the requisite picnic facilities and lush vacoa grove.  Like waterfalls, I never tire of pausing to check out a pounding surf.

 Crashing surf at Puits de Anglais

Next thing I knew I had passed by the Rougail Mangue – I had lapped the island!  To celebrate I stopped back at the grocery where Jeff and I had picked up dinner one week ago, or was it a lifetime?  After picking up a few supplies and some things for dinner tonight I pushed ahead for tonight’s resting place.

Arriving at Gandalf Safari Camp would mark the pinnacle of my Reunion lodging experiences.  What awesome digs!  I found the establishment similar to the Rougail Mangue in many ways, unsurprising perhaps as they were quite near one another.  Both are large personal residences with a section sequestered for lodging.

One difference between the two is that Rougail Mangue lies just off the highway, so you aren’t inclined to venture out for a walk.  Gandalf Safari Camp, however, lies along what appears to be the main (and pretty much only) residential street of its community, Manapany-les-Bains.  This is a terrific street to stroll, so after unpacking I set off for an inspection.

Many other folks were out walking, biking or running along with a few cars, but the road is very tight with a lot of drainage ditches that effectively serve as speed bumps (speed divots?), so traffic moved slowly.  I happened upon some steps which looked as though they led to the ocean, and sure enough, soon found myself seaside.  The steps ended at a tidal basin created by basaltic walls where a swimming club was swimming laps.

Swimming hole at Manapany-les Bains 

There were about fifteen folks sitting along the shore watching perhaps double that number splashing about in the tidal pool.  Once again I was instilled with a vibrant sense of community and sat down to enjoy the scene for a bit.  Though I didn’t subject the premises to intense scrutiny, it looked like changing rooms and showers were available.  Pretty slick facilities for a swimming pool built by Mother Nature!

Continuing on, I eventually came to the end of the road, which concludes at some impressive cliffs where the surf crashes powerfully.  There is a small park here, basically a grassy area peppered with boulders.  Returned to the Gandalf, constantly exchanging greetings with passers by (“bonsoir“for ‘good evening’).

Got back to Gandalf and after chatting briefly with Claus and Christina, the German owners who speak very good English, I repaired to the kitchen area for dinner and journal writing.  Of course I also had to greet Gandalf and Eowyn, their boisterous dogs who were all over me, but it made me feel right at home (our dog is bigger and less behaved!).  Gandalf Safari Camp is another private guest house offering a wild choice of room themes, representing the major ethnic groups on the island – I selected the Madagascar room, but the other options include Arabian, Indian, Creole or Chinese.  Rooms are creatively decorated and include en suite bathrooms.