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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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!
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!
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.
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.
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.
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