The Great Easter Egg Hunt

The days leading up to Easter were also the days leading up to several dear friends’ departures. In order to celebrate a year well done, we decided to hike the Roche Ecrite. I did this hike in January and had a nice little adventure by way of car vandalism. This time we took the trail from Le Brûlé in St. Denis where there is a large and secure parking lot surrounded by sharpshooters. Breathing with confidence and feelings of security, team 99% Germany, 1% America we were off.

Unfortunately the first leg of the trip was riddled with rain and mud. We slipped and slid up the mountain, eventually reaching the campsite well beyond nightfall. Thomas, who had gotten a head start with his mother and brother (who were visiting), met us at the gite in La Plaine des Chicots with a wild look in his eyes. Apparently his family, who was now peacefully eating a hot meal in the gite’s large mess hall, had hated every step taken in the rain and mud. “That’s strange,” I pondered to myself.
The rest of the team--there were 6 of us--didn’t drag our tents and food up the crater for nothing. We quickly got to work setting up camp in a field near the gite, much to the owner’s dismay. “Do you think he wants us to move?” someone asked, as a man with daggers and angry eyes circled the tents. “No, I think he’s glad we’re here!” was general consensus.

Very early the next morning, our alarms shook us awake. The tent people had snoozed through a pretty chilly night, while the gite people--ie: Thomas’ family--had suffered through a really cold night. Learner’s mistake: even on tropical islands,1000 m above sea level, you need a sweater. Angry with icicles on their eyebrows, the family warily considered the summit ahead. The rest of us turned our head lamps on, hopped to it, and were off in the early morning darkness.

As you approach the summit of the Roche Ecrite, a process that takes about two hours, you are met by a pretty ambiguous and vast rock face. Little bushes shroud the mountain and white arrows are painted into lava to indicate the trail. It’s extremely easy to get lost because everything looks the same. Fortunately, through a miracle of God and my pure eagle eye strength, we made it to the top without getting lost. Sunrises over vast mountain ranges are mighty nice.It was COLD up there, but we managed to light a little fire, heat some coffee, and enjoy breakfast with a view. Several hours later--it took us that long to eat--someone realized that we had never seen the "Thomas crew." We packed up, headed down, and shortly ran into a tempest of family feuding.

What had happened was this: the early morning was cold, dark, and generally unfavorable for people who hadn’t packed warm clothes and were forced to light up the trail with cell phones. They got lost. So lost, in fact, that they started to panic. Eventually, in the very far distance, Thomas saw a man that he decided to chase in order to find the trail. During the sprint of his lifetime, Thomas dropped his pack somewhere in the vast mountain savannah. The man was a mirage, it was impossible to retrace his steps, and the pack was swallowed into the ambiguous scenery. We arrived in time to see mother and son reunited, followed by mother cutting son from the family tree.

Ms. Austria, always calm and collected in times of great stress, separated the two adversaries, and led Thomas’ mother down and away, back to the gite where we had come from. Thomas, now with a clear head, was able to confirm that he had no idea where on the face of the planet his bag had gone.

What is Easter without an Easter Egg Hunt?

A human chain was formed with a very clear and simple mission: recover the pack or don’t come back

Find the pack or don't come back...

It took over an hour of combing through every leaf, reed, and blade of grass on the Roche Ecrite, but the plan was flawless. Dear Britta, Germany’s newest star, triumphantly waved the bag through the air from a distance and Thomas fell to the ground, one happy bunny.

The rest of the trek was a breeze. Thomas and I skipped back up to the summit because, after all, we were so close. We made it down in record time, the family was reunited, and I think everyone’s talking again...

La Roche Ecrite

There is a magical mythical place in the center of Reunion Island called the Roche Ecrite. If you have the wherewithal to start hiking at 4:30 in the morning, you might make it in time for a stunning view of this unique place which straddles two cirques, Salazie and Mafate. Looking down into one cirque is like looking down into the eye of the earth. Now TWO, that's more than an earthly man might be able to handle. My pal Anouk and I decided to give it a shot.

We started our hike from Dos d'An, north of La Possession, a quick and easy way to shoot into the cirque de Mafate. I parked the car in a residential area and we hit the ground running. As is always the case with the weather here, the mountains entrap clouds early on in the day, and once this happens, you can't see much. It's a race against time and we were already late. Added confusion abounded when we lost twenty minutes roaming around the little neighborhood looking for the path. Soon we found it and were on our way.

The early morning views were spectacular. Nonetheless, we started getting nervous when we asked someone how far to La Roche Ecrite and he laughed at us, shook his head, and walked away. The next person was more helpful, "At least 6 hours from here!" We had planned to do this in one day and started to feel the heat; time to book it. The trail was something out of a fairytale: we passed through secret mossy fields and across knife-head paths, sheer rock cliffs dropping from either sides. If we didn't feel like we were starring in the Lord of the Rings, we did by the time the fog started rolling in and everything became more mysterious.

This also unfortunately meant that everything became invisible. We made excellent time to our destination but it was not time enough. The tremendous view we had hoped to see was entirely covered with clouds and fog by 11AM. We did see the Roche Ecrite, or "written rock" which is a lovely slab of concrete with graffiti on it. If you are Philippe, Pierre, or Antoine, you have been to this place more times than is appropriate, and should stop writing your name--now. In any event, anyone planning this hike would be advised to begin in darkness or stay in the gite at Plaine des Chicos so you can get the sunrise view. That's what I will do next time...

Back down the mountain side completing our 24km hike with some very tired legs and a small twinge of disappointment, but mostly we just had fun. A great time that came to a screeching halt when we got to the car to discover that some trickster had stolen the hubcaps and popped a back tire. Thanks Dos D'an! Apparently this is a local pastime in the neighborhood; locals like to give tourists the run around. Moral of the story, avoid parking in this area.

There were some kids hanging out near the car and Anouk went over to try to scare them into confessing, but they were smiley and just offered to help us put the spare on. At this point my legs were rubber--every time I took a step, I almost fell down. It was embarrassing. Especially when I realized that one of the boys, Christopher, is a student of mine at Lycee Vue Belle. A small tire-popping world. Tried not to lose face by wiping out in front of everyone, but at this point the entire neighborhood had gathered around to watch us struggle with the jack. I gave tire-changing authority to a 14 year old boy because I no longer had control over my muscles. It was an ordeal, but what are you going to do. I was too tired to be indignant. As we were cruising out of town, a friendly neighbor flagged us down. The fire started growing in my belly when we were informed that it was my student and his father who vandalized my car. Not over any personal vendetta, but just a fun father-son activity when there's a visitor in town. I hope that sweet little Christopher is ready to write "I will not vandalize my teacher's car" 800 times on the blackboard...