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.

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:

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.

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...

Christmas Day

Christmas Day on Reunion Island was the best tropical Noel I've ever had. The strangest aspect was waking up alone in the morning and opening my presents...alone. But in the end, it's hard to be blue when the palm trees are swaying and you have Bing Crosby singing Mele Kalikimaka at a high decibel!

My day was spent with Radical Tom, Australian wonderboy. After a quiet morning playing with the toys Santa brought, I made my way to Tommy's where small children in tighty whities were running around the house deliriously happy with their new presents. The parents cattle ranged their wild things, put some clothes on the hot little bodies, and away we all went into the hills for Christmas lunch with family friends.
My recollection of what we ate is limited to something resembling bread and pastes of different varieties--meat, vegetable? No matter! The true highlight was when Marie-Christine, the matriarch, went into the family vault and pulled out two fine bottles of Rhum Arrange. This is a Reunion Island tradition of white rum distilled for months at a time with different fruits and spices. As we were to discover later in the day, it's powerful stuff. Radical and I, as the representative foreign legion, were the recipients of these beautiful bottles, a fine gift indeed.

After we heartily helped ourselves to dessert, Tom and I slipped out the back door and headed south. On a previous 'round-the-island tour, I had visited a place called Manapany-les-Bains, a large protected tide pool. It had been my hope to return for a swim, and what better time than on Christmas Day! We arrived there in the late afternoon along with 700 of our favorite aunts, uncles, and cousins. The place was crowded but festive. Radical got to work taking shots of the place, I immediately stepped on a sea urchin. It was unfortunate, but did not keep us from playing gladiator on the rocks or "who can stay under the water longer." The sun got a little lower in the sky, my urchin spikes started getting the best of me, and we ultimately decided to head homeward. On the drive back, our friend Thomas who was expecting his girlfriend from Dusseldorf, called to say that she had been stranded in a snowstorm there, and could we please come and eat the romantic Christmas dinner he had prepared? The answer was obviously yes. But first we had to swing by my place where Radical performed life saving urchin spike removal from my foot. The local cure for this is to lather the infected site with a cream laxative that supposedly relaxes the skin and encourages expulsion. hmmm... Unfortunately (!!?) all of the pharmacies were closed, so we did it the old fashioned needle and tweezer way.

Onwards and upwards! We hot footed it--ha--to Boucan Canot and the candle-lit dinner that awaited us there. Having made the best of a sad snowy Christmas situation in the northern hemisphere, Thomas did not let us down with his culinary skill. We might have been in the heart of Deutschland had it not been for the 100 degree heat in his apartment. I brought the after-dinner entertainment in the form of a gingerbread man kit that my parents had sent from the U.S. A little rhum arrange and too much sugar later, we were rocking around the Christmas tree!

Col du Taibit

After a movie several weeks ago, my pal Susanne and I were invited to go hiking with a friend of a friend whom we bumped into on the side of the road. The plan was to hike from Cilaos to Mafate via Col du Taibit, a narrow little pass high in the mountains that connects two of the island's three immense volcanic craters. From there, you can see the ocean on one side and down into the Cirque de Mafate from the other.

One of the joys of hiking on Reunion Island is how the geography is so truly untouched. It's a raw and beautiful experience of extremely remote, serene, and quiet terrain. The downside is that if there's any sort of problem, you usually have to get airlifted out. About two hours into our trek, we crossed a woman who had broken her leg. Soon we could hear the helicopter rescue team off in the distance. It got me thinking that the pain of injury may be worth it just to get an island tour! Just kidding, Ma! I couldn't get enough of these guys:

We made it up Col du Taibit without another incident and began the descent down into Mafate. Somewhere along the line Susanne made friends with some radical Creole mountain-men-band- of-brothers who were hiking, skipping, jumping all over the jagged rocks without any shoes on. They were doing the same trail we were on, a roughly 16 hour round trip adventure. I had seen this once before during an earlier trek when a guy with dreadlocks down to his ankles sprinted past me barefoot on a trail that was so unpredictable I needed poles to manage it alive. A Creole pastime, I've been told.

We got hit with a flash flood as we were approaching Trois Roches, our base camp for that night:
And here is a great shot from the next morning when we got up to begin the journey back. Someone let the cows out--though we have no idea where they came from. Apparently there are individually isolated farmers that live in these very remote mountain corners. Sometimes they live by themselves, other times with their families, but mostly they are roughing it alone. Access to the outside world is limited to the decision to hike the 8 hours to Cilaos, the closest town.

You can click on the pictures to get a better look!