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.
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.
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment