Heading Out

The year has come to an end, and I am leaving La Reunion for the time being. Check back soon for more travel adventures!

Island Flying

My colleagues at Lycée Hotelier chipped in and got me an aerial island tour as an end-of-year gift. It was 90% perfect, 10% terrifying since I enjoy flying about as much as stepping on sea urchins. But it's hard to be afraid when you're dipping in and out of such beauty. We were up there for over an hour, exploring all of the ins and outs of a place that I have come to know and love.

Piton des Neiges

Le Piton des Neiges is the big mountain pursuit of Reunion Island. Call it Maine's Katahdin, Tanzania's Kilimanjaro, or heck, Nepal's Everest--it's the right of passage that turns mortal men into super humans.

All that happened to me was rapid advanced aging: stiffness that I hope not to experience again until my 90th birthday and irregular breathing that may have otherwise been attributed to cancer sticks, except that I'm not a smoker. I was stumped by the entire experience. But my friend, Caroline and I had a fantastic time.
Before we started the epic road trip up to the trail head, I made everyone eat Piton des Neiges yogurts. There's a whole line of dairy products on Reunion Island named for this mountain boon, and I figured it would be good luck for us to fuel ourselves with it. Caro thought I was borderline intolerable. BUT, we both made it to the summit in the end, and I'm not calling that a coincidence.

The trail from Cilaos to the gite summit base camp only takes about 2 hours to hike. It's short but steep. No matter. We arrived huffing and puffing, had our lunch, and then twiddled our thumbs. The plan was to spend the night in the gite, then wake up at 4am and hike the summit for sunrise. Since we had gotten there so quickly and had a long afternoon ahead, I got giddy with childish excitement and boredom, and decided to kill some time by exploring the summit trail for a little while.
Before I knew it, I was delirious and alone without food, water, or a cell phone at 3070m. But, I got some great shots on the summit above the clouds.
I also got dizzy, scared, and guilty thinking about leaving my future children motherless, so I hot footed it down to civilization so as not to die alone.

We had a very cold but convivial evening in the gite that culminated with us eating an epically heavy creole meal of sausages dipped in oil. It was a long night of terrible digestion, bunk beds filled with bloated hikers tossing and turning in agony. At 4am, after a sleepless night, the whole gang hiked to the summit with our headlamps and awaited the sunrise in the frigid, burning cold.
Sadly, with the sunrise came a pretty intense cloud rise. This all gave way to a chilly damp rain that chased us down the mountainside immediately. I felt glad that I had had a clear view the afternoon before. It left me feeling that the hardest part about hiking the Piton des Neiges is the weather. And the sausages. But we did it, we made it! And I guess I don't need to go back there ever again...

Oh, hello Maurice!

At the end of May, I looked lazily at the visa in my passport which was set to expire on June 1st. "I wonder if there's anything I need to do for that," I yawned to myself. I approached the woman at the Prefecture in St. Denis with mild disinterest, handed her my passport, and waited for her to tell me to get back to the beach day. Her eyes said to my eyes, "You're an irresponsible idiot." What she said out loud was--(in the French version of a Texan drawl)-- "Ma'am, ya'll need to make like a wild fire and get out of this country bah tomorrow. You have a nice day now."
After pleading with passport and visa officials who confirmed that if I didn't leave the country immediately, I would go to prison or risk never getting a visa in Europe ever again, I put the peddle to the metal, went home, and bought myself the next plane ticket out.

Mauritius, or Maurice as it's known to the French, is our little island neighbor. It's only a half hour flight away, but you might as well be going to the other side of the earth for all of the talk. The two islands spend considerable time distancing themselves one from the other. It's your standard infantile rivalry: people from Reunion are "lazy" and people from Maurice are "just plain self involved." For the record, stereotypes seem silly when you consider that both islands have similar climates and histories. But ah well, they are different---long live island pride!

All that was legally required of me in this situation was to prove my absence from Reunion Island on June 1st; I had the right to return anytime after as a tourist. This will go down as the most expensive passport stamp I'll ever have. I decided to declare a "Visa Vacation" and make the most of this forced visit. After all, there are worst problems in the world than being required to escape to an exotic tropical island.

I stayed with Jose and Ayesha, the parents of my Bates friend, Tanya. Kind souls that they are, they let me crash at their beautiful home with no prior warning. "Hello, this is a stranger that you have never met before and I am beaming in to your island. May I please sleep at your house." The answer was an unequivocal yes that came with full extensive Mauritian touring benefits, the best Indian Ocean cuisine of my life, and surrogate parenting. Really fantastic people who pulled out all of the stops.
Mauritius is India meets tropical in the same way that Reunion is France meets tropical. It has a strong Hindu culture peppered with a local French-English creole tradition. Everyone is extremely generous and hospitable. The tourist infrastructure is much more built up than Reunion's which means that it's nearly impossible to find the lost, savage corners that exist next door. But this is all for a reason: the place is a beach paradise.

Last Woman Standing

I have been spending a lot of time at the Roland Garros International Airport, and I don't like it one iota. As the other language assistants finished up work and started hopping hemispheres, it felt like my entire social life was making one long, sad, parade to the exit door.

To help ease the pain of goodbye, Sophie developed a genius approach called "Airport Apéros." In every Air France baggage check line, there is a good bottle of rum punch and cocktail peanuts. It is an enviable practice wherein all line "neighbors" eventually want to be included and soon there is a rumba chain leading right on up to the....airport police.

Goodbye, chère Susi!

But police are people too, and usually even they can be coaxed into an olive or two.

Thomas walking the plank

Dodos for Rom's goodbyeAnother wonderful woman off! Bye Soph!

And here I am, the last woman standing: still working in the Port, hanging on the boats, and soaking up the rays for as long as I can!

Village Fête

On our last night in Madagascar, we were invited to a local fisherman's home. Captain Florent, as he is known in Ramena, has a successful business and a wide-spread reputation as the best sailor in town. I traveled with him on stormy seas to an island in the Emerald Sea and can attest to the fact that we did not capsize. This is saying a lot considering that massive waves were thundering into the boat from the beginning---Ma! We quite nearly sank!

Florent, his boat, and the (now calm) Emerald Sea

To celebrate still being alive and the long friendship that has existed between Florent and my hosts, Gilles and Anouk, everyone in the village came together for the meal. Anouk and I, after having outfitted ourselves several days earlier with traditional African dress, decided not to deny the fans, and came in full regalia.

The evening consisted of appetizers, which turned into the main course of crab stew, which turned into the second main course of brochettie (zebu kababs), which turned into the third main course of grilled fish. By the time the coconut rice, rum, and (more) zebu kababs were being passed around, we put our hands up in surrender and fell to the ground. It was the party of the year with children, grandparents, "vazahas" all dressed up, and fisherman dancing all around.

Tsingy Rouge

Northern Madagascar is home to some very fascinating Tsingy. What are "Tsingy," you might ask? Well, I'm not really sure. But they are something like a downside up stalagmite. Primarily a sandy geological structure, they shoot from the red earth, defying nature.

Anouk and I decided to hitch a 4x4 truck to a region about two hours inland from where we were staying in Ramena. From there, we traveled over sometimes fine, sometimes very car-sick inducing potholes to arrive at this beautiful sight. We hiked down into the canyon to get a closer look.

Air Madagascar

Driving to the airport to catch our plane from St. Denis to Diego, Madagascar, it came to our attention that the airline we were flying with, Air Madagascar, had several days prior been blacklisted. This means that the international aviation commission has deemed it an airline unfit for humans.

We weren't nervous at all.

As we boarded the aircraft, Anouk jokingly asked the first flight attendant we saw, a stern woman in a red suit, whether the plane was in good working order, whether it was fit to fly, etc. The hostess looked her in the eye and said, "Honestly, I have no idea." She then directed us to our seats.

Ultimately the flight went just fine, but this doesn't mean that we hadn't soaked through our clothes by the time we touched down at Antisiranana an hour later. We were stressed, to say the least.

The arrivals and departures board in Diego

Hop, Skip, Jump: Madagascar

Early May brought me to La Reunion's large island neighbor, Madagascar. I spent a fast but colorful week in the country's north, exploring the small fishing village of Ramena and her surroundings. I was the guest of a midwife friend from Reunion, and her father, who spends a large portion of every year visiting Ramena as its village doctor. Our arrival signified that "The Doctor was In" and between Anouk and her father, Gilles, they greeted many patients over the course of our stay. This was of course, a privileged position, as we were given the royal treatment everywhere we went. We were invited into homes, confided in, and accompanied around town.

The following are some of my favorite pictures from the week:

Into the Wild

Now that school is finished, there's a lot more free time. The crew here has responded by taking to the trails. Here are some photos from an eastern coastal trek we took from Anse des Cascades to Saint Rose at the beginning of May:
And the view from the flatbed truck that Rom and I hitched back to our car:

I've Moved!

As of May 1st, I moved up into the hills, to Plateau Caillou. This is a beautiful western city looking out over the Indian Ocean. It's incredible how quickly the climate and temperatures change depending on where you are in Reunion Island. The mountains are known for their departure from the hot, dry temperatures of the low-lying beach communities. On my first night in the new place, I felt the sensation of cold for the first time in months.

Moving from La Saline was a project and a shocking discovery in how much stuff one accumulates in a short period of time. Ms. Austria, the dear helping hand, assisted in digging me out of the rat's nest I had somehow constructed for myself over the past year. Miraculously everything fit into the car and--more or less--into my new room.

I am living with the Jean-Jacques family: friends I met over the course of this past year. Everyone describes our house ambiance as a "courant d'air." At any given time there can be as many as seven of us and as few as one. My role is "Native English Speaker" and I keep the party alive with hilarious miscommunications and international dinners. It's a nice change from my quiet studio life. Now that my high school teaching contract is over, I'm working less and finding it fun to spend time with humans.

My new house:

And my new dog (who comes included with the house):

School's Out!

The end of April saw the end of my teaching contract on Reunion Island. For the two weeks leading up to this untimely finish, my students and I celebrated the momentous goodbye with copious amounts of grease. After day three of class parties: ie, chips and soda for breakfast, I proposed whole grains and fruits. This plan was rejected by 99% of the population.

It may not have been the healthiest string of events, but we certainly had fun. Different classes organized different activities and presentations to mark my departure. One group cleared all of the tables and chairs in the classroom and taught me how to break dance. Obviously I excelled. Another group sang traditional songs and jumped on the desks. I had to be firm with my frown face. On my very last day, one class prepared an entire Réunionais Créole lesson for me. They may have laughed more than I learned: an American accent is not a common occurrence in this language. But they had fun (at my expense).

Here are some Creole riddles that I had to decipher. You have to figure out what vegetable the riddle is referring to:

Ti bonom grand shapo.
Small gentleman with a big hat. (mushroom)

In ti rouz, tap in gran blan.
Little red one that taps big white ones. (red chile)

Mon rob lé ver mon kilot lé rouz.
My shirt is green and my underwear are red. (tomato)

Mon san lé cayé sou la ter.
My blood is curdled under the earth. (beet root)

One of the sweetest gestures came from my bakery students who, on their last day, presented me with a serving tray. It is a beautiful wooden platter with a "Reunion Island" motif that is also, incidentally, made from the heaviest and densest wood known to mankind. It is large--extremely large--and takes three people to carry. I have not figured out how I will fit it into a normal-sized suitcase or box for my return to the States.