In this traffic-thick environment the N1 is a real blessing. We got to pick it up right outside our hotel and gratefully zoomed south for thirty miles. But then we got off. Attempting to navigate through Étang-Salé was a bona fide nightmare as it seemed they were setting up booths for some massive street festival. The booths stretched on and on, cutting into the pavement available for vehicles and flooding the remainder with scurrying pedestrians.
Eventually we squeezed past the congestion and headed for the hauts, replacing the headaches of city driving with switchbacks and steep ascents. I’ll gladly take the latter, especially since we were growing accustomed to this terrain. We arrived just before 8AM, learning that this is when the hut at Pas de Bellecombe opens – there was already a line of around a dozen folks waiting for the doors to swing open.
Our second attempt was off to a promising start. Even though we were beginning much earlier it wasn’t as cold as Tuesday and only raining lightly. This time we passed the gate determined to make it to the rim of the crater.
The trail to the volcano begins with a steep plunge, eased by a switchback pathway with steps and railings. This gets muddy, but once you reach the plateau at the bottom it is volcanic rock and the mud vanishes. Even though the mud disappeared, once we set foot on the plateau the fog and rain rolled in to restrict visibility and generally make things miserable.
On the road to the Volcano, tread cautiously. You walk across every conceivable type of lava for the rest of the journey to the crater, and each variety holds different perils. The smooth lava is easy to walk over, but beware of discreet crevices lying in wait to clutch your ankles. The loose rock and cinder portions are slippery and it is unwise to trust your foot placement is on sturdy ground. The spiky lava is the worse, it sticks up rigidly to create tripping hazards and the slightest brush against one of the tiny pillars will snag your footwear (both the laces and even the fabric).
There’s about a 1,200 foot ascent to the rim (good practice for Saturday?) and it was slow going as the rain picked up. An hour into the trek I was soaked and my glasses were so fogged and rain splattered that I took them off and carried them in my hand. If you know how poor my eyesight is, that is really serious!
After a bit I got acclimated to walking blind, but recognized I wasn’t absorbing the landscape at all. I was completely focused on the ground where my next footfall would strike, but even when my eyes strayed I saw zippo between lack of corrective lenses and all the fog. So we plodded on in misery and after two hours arrived at the crater rim.
Our reward at the end of the trail? Peering down from a fog shrouded environment into…an even thicker cloud bank! What a shame to gaze into the mouth of one of the world’s most active volcanoes and see nothing at all. Another hiker soon joined our ranks to share the misery and at least provided a fun connection. Another French national who spoke English and had lived in the US for several years! Turns out he was a pilot for Air France on holiday and the best part of being perched on the lip of Piton de Fournaise would simply be chatting with him.
We turned tail and retraced our steps, encountering a lot of hikers striving towards the rim. Previously we could acknowledge everyone with a simple “bon jour” and move on, but now everyone wanted to converse and understand how far away the end of the trail was. Most could speak some English, but my mode of communicating the time estimate evolved into tracing the number of minutes remaining in the air. That seemed to be the most effective way (and the quickest too).
Pressing on, the rain began to dissipate and then stopped. The clouds broke and shortly it became sunny and warm! We were left to wonder whether the crater would have been clear had we embarked an hour later and just as we neared the rise out of the plateau our Air France pilot (who had started back before we did) abruptly turned around and was sprinting back to the volcano. We wished him luck and continued on towards Pas de Bellecombe.
Rising back out of the plateau was astonishing. For the first time we could see the steep rise we had climbed. Neither Jeff nor I realized the ascent was so massive because we could never see more than a few feet. It was impressive that the fog could masquerade a large summit so effectively.
Back at the car, we shed soggy outer layers and headed back down through switchback land. The rain had already swept back in and for a minute the fog got so thick that we had to pull over due to ZERO visibility. Given the difficulty in navigating these roadways when it’s clear, leaving Piton de la Fournaise was a real nail biter. Final score: Volcano 2; Jeff & Vance 0.
As usual, the rain ebbed away during the descent and on our journey back towards sunshine we impulsively pulled into a diner in Bourg-Murat for lunch. Chez Alex was basically a counter where you placed an order, though they had added on a covered area which featured tasteful tablecloth seating. Jeff and I both ordered some Rougail Saucisses, a spicy sausage dish prepared Reunion style. Our portions were served over rice and beans, hitting the spot in weather that remained a bit chilly.
The diner was great for experiencing some Reunionnais culture. A large party of adults and youngsters occupied the single large table in the covered area, and it was a boisterous crowd. I was struck by the ethnic mix – a wide range of origins was included – and even more by the genuine ease among the mix. There was plenty of good-natured joking (of course I couldn’t understand a lick of what was being spoken) and I thought how rare it would be experience a diverse group enjoying themselves this much in the US.
Steering back towards Boucan Canot, we popped into a local grocery store, the Super U (we had also passed a place called “Hyper U” along the N1 which I forgot to get a picture of so I could claim it was the local college for ADD children!), to stock up on supplies. Prices weren’t the bargain we had experienced in Vincendo, but I got to pick up a towel, so no complaints. Jeff had forewarned me our hotel provided no towels, but I forgot.
Back at the hotel, Jeff took a nap and I adjourned to the snack bar on campus for some coffee and caught up with journal writing. Then back to the room to shower before dinner, now that I owned a towel.
The beach strip by the hotel really was fun, and we opted to sit down at the Bambou Bar for our evening meal. By no means formal, the Bambou Bar is easily the classiest place along the beach. Lest you be deceived by the casual atmosphere, however, please know the Bambou Bar serves up some first class dinners! They begin serving at 7PM (like most places on the island) and we both ordered entrée salads. Jeff’s featured fish, taro balls and blood sausages, and mine mixed ham and pears in with a terrific selection of greens. Delectable!
After dinner, our waitress informed us the owner wished to present us with shots of their flavored rum. Seems to be a tradition to craft a “house” version of flavored rum and share with guests (either lodging or restaurant). I deferred, but Jeff savored his shot and declared it tasty. Though uncertain what they had used to doctor the elixir, Jeff detected several additions, one being cinnamon.
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