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 swallo
wed 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...
ding 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.
