Reunion

Le Reunion de Trois Cirques

(The Reunion of Three Craters)

Cirque Salazie – Cirque Mafate – Cirque Cilaos

It is wonderfully cool here in the marina at the moment. I was going to start this blog yesterday morning but then I got caught up in filling in forms on line and sending them to the authorities in Richards Bay and Durban, South Africa and to two contacts there who can speak on our behalf if necessary. Our next voyage falls naturally into two sections; Firstly, from here to south of Madagascar and secondly across the Mozambique Channel where the ‘buster’ lows can well up from the Southern Ocean and hit the south running Agulhas Current head on with mountainous seas resulting, usually along the coast between Durban and south to Port Elizabeth. Our option if that happens is to head NW to Richards Bay where we will hopefully be above the worst of that turbulence. If not then a direct route to Durban will save us 80 miles.

Richards Bay is a popular destination in normal times because there are numerous safari destinations from there, but that’s a little pointless at the moment since we will only be allowed ashore to provision, and possibly only be permitted to stay for 72 hours. There is a mandatory Covid test we will have on arrival, so if that comes back negative maybe we will be allowed to hang around a little longer. We need to coast hop to Cape Town to leave for the northward trip home around February, so we will have 10 – 12 weeks to spend in SA.

Back to the present.

Le Piton Neiges Volcano is a generous fellow; sitting at the high point the now extinct volcano, at just over three thousand metres, has not one, nor two but three craters (cirques, calderas) sitting around him and only very rarely sports a hat of snow, as his name suggests.

I had seen an inspiring photo in a brochure about the island which showed a woman sitting on a reclining chair on a grassy plateau in the early morning sun surrounded by near vertical peaks covered in lush green foliage and dramatic against a clear blue sky. I wanted that experience for us and only hoped the guest house I had randomly booked because it appeared near the edge of the Cirque Salazie would come up with the goods; but first we had to get there.

Rob collected the Citroen C1 and we first of all did two fuel runs for Zoonie. The back of the little car would only fit four containers at once! We each boldly lugged a full container in each hand from the car park back to Zoonie, my arms almost reaching the pontoon by the time I got there. Second time around a young Chilean, crewing with his father on the same route as us, ran across from his yacht to take my cans the rest of the way; how very kind I thought and so said.

When we had been approaching the island, we saw lots of headlights right down at the water’s edge along the coast on which we were now driving. As daylight crept abroad we also noticed what looked like a road built on stilts over the water around the land. Now you can see it is a brand new road, nearing completion and it will carry the rapidly increasing volume of traffic safely away from the base of the volcanic cliffs that constantly send lethal rock falls onto the road below. Massive metal nets cover the rock face to try and keep the heavy missiles from causing any damage. All the same the new road will probably save in constant repairs more than it cost to build.

We stumbled into crowded St Andre for a quick look around. The centre was incredibly busy with shoppers and traffic, the streets and pavements like so many in the UK, in a poor state of repair as if they had been built and then never maintained. The smartest part was the Catholic Cemetery. We never did find the Office de Tourisme but surprisingly, back in our little white shoe, we drove straight onto the D48 that ran alongside the Riviere du Mat towards Salazie, fortunately leaving all the coastal traffic behind. We were by this time ready for a break, a coffee and a little history.

The sides of the valley were lush green and I wondered how the trees clung to near vertical rock. The river flowed fast beneath us, fed by the thousands of waterfalls (cascades) flowing from above after the frequent rainfall on this moisture rich side of the island. We crossed the river over the bridge you see from the 1859 engraving to a pretty little café where the crested Bulbul Orphee, Orphan Bulbul, was tucking into the previous customers’ sugar pot.

So, from now on we knew that a lot of the local residents we saw further up the valley were likely to be descendants of the escaped slaves, Marron, who lived out their lives on their small holdings, growing among other crops, maize, banana, papaya and potato, away from the pains of their enslavement. Understandable that after the abolition of slavery in 1848 most could not get on with their masters and joined their fellows further up the fertile slopes of their new master, Le Piton Neiges.

The island is a wonderful mix of races; indentured Indians were brought in after the ‘Abolition’ to work the sugar, coffee and vanilla plantations and others came from Asia, some by choice, and Africa and its small eastern sister, Madagascar, plus of course the Europeans, especially from France. The island had so much to offer, not just in fertility and climate but also its location put it on the clipper run from Europe to Asia and the East India Companies exploited its value to the full.

We were heading on through Salazie to a little village called Hell-Bourg because we had heard it was very pretty and should not be missed. Pale orange bell-shaped Datura flowers hung from their bushes everywhere, in the wild but also as decoration in gardens and I wondered how these rampant poisonous plants had come to be so plentiful. Well, for centuries indigenous people the world over have used the poisonous characteristics of this plants for numerous medical treatments including pain relief, burn healing and as an analgesic, and, culturally, as hallucinogens in ceremonial dancing and rites of passage.

Everywhere was dripping, the air was dripping, leaves and eaves were dripping, even the gentle local mutts were dripping and as we climbed higher it was also becoming cooler.

As the sign near our coffee stop said, many of the wealthy early residents, merchants and plantation owners, built summer houses up in these cooler locations, especially when the hot water springs were discovered at Hell-Bourg and we saw numerous grand gateways, decorated with elaborate wrought ironwork leading to flowery terraces and the villa above. We found one such where the lower terrace had been turned into a flower lined al fresco café, so we sat and absorbed the colour of the begonias, azaleas and hibiscus while sipping bottle-fermented local beer, Yab, Yabadabadoo! It was very cloudy.

As was the sky above us as a thick mist descended from the heights and I feared for my early morning ambition of cloudless peaks. We also had to backtrack to a fork in the road where we turned very sharp left to head for our accommodation for the night at Belier near the Col des Boeufs, neck of steers!

The road led us around constant tight bends and we had passed the signs for Belier, the mist was swirling all around us when suddenly Rob brought the car to a sudden stop, unsure of the direction of the road, and on the stone by the gate was written 26, Route de Belier, our address!

A small misunderstanding in my slippery grasp of French, Robert Blanche, no, Robert Blanc, caused the lady of the house some confusion until a young couple of doctors, from near Bordeaux who had been living in Le Port for three years, clarified things for us and we were introduced to our little ensuite room, one quarter of the building with the French couple next door.

We had not booked an evening meal with our host so we drove back into Grand Ilet a few miles back, to a Restaurant of the same name. I had booked a table for 7oclock but Rob’s tummy was on fire so we sat in a misty car park watching the local goings on for half an hour, would the statue of Mary disappear in the mist before it got dark?

A petit chef was busy over his three woks and a rice steamer when we arrived. Enmasked, we could see he was smiling from his eyes. He was the master of all trades and as the restaurant’s 11 tables filled he was as busy as a bee, taking orders, pouring wine, waiting on the hungry customers, tempting us with Tarte Aux Pomme, and dealing with our bills, all with calm charm! And the food was as tasty as he was efficient. As the evening was cool I joined Rob sharing a carafe of good, warming red wine and the bill for two courses and the vin rouge – 43 Euros.

The return drive was slow due to the all-enveloping mist and bendy road, did the wine make it even bendier than before? And would we awake to a clear sky? We shall see.

Les Environs de Belier

From my journal on 28th October 2020,

‘06.10am. I have just come back in from a circuit of our little patch of level mountain terrace, overwhelmed by both the sheer beauty of our surroundings and having the good fortune to awaken to clear skies and green mountain peaks set against the loveliest blue after a day of mist and low cloud. Just a few little veils of cobweb mist hang around, sunlight sparkles on leaves and petals alike and droplets fall from foliage like tiny beads of molten silver. We are perched on the edge of the Cirque Salazie in the early morning sunlight, my dream has come true.’

The lady host arrived from her house up the hill a little, smiling and carrying an armful of fresh baguettes ready for breakfast at 7.00am. The other three couples are all walkers so an early start in the cool would be ideal for them and we were happy because it would give us a nice long day for exploration. The island is within the 23’N to 23’S band around the equator, so it is technically the tropics, but of course up here, 2000 metres above sea level it is more temperate and much of the ambience and architecture is decidedly alpine.

Around our two new little buildings, the accommodation house and the dining room with integral kitchen, and all around the garden were borders of potted and planted colourful flowering plants, cymbidium and other orchids, amaryllis, begonia galore, azalea, fuchsia, hibiscus and any others you can identify, all in full flower and weighed down by raindrops or just on the brink of finishing their blooming. By chance we picked the right time for our visit.

Helicopters were taking advantage of the pristine, clear peaks for early morning tripper flights over the spectacular calderas. Each one of their passengers, like me, must have felt very lucky to bear witness.

We filled up on a generous continental breakfast before complimenting the lady on her lovely garden and then headed for Salazie on our way back to the coast and our next destination, the live volcano of Piton de la Fournaise (furnace, oven!).

A short break now from our trip to tell you about last evening while it is still fresh in my old mind…

Birthday Party beneath a Blue Halloween Moon

The werewolves were still in hiding as our friendly group of sailing families met under the hibiscus to celebrate the ninth birthday of Andre and Eva’s (from Mirabella) eldest daughter, Jael.

It was amazing to think that the ‘blue moon’, the rare second full moon in October could for the first time since 1944 be seen all around the world on the eve and night of All Hallows, 31st October and will not been seen again by the whole world for another 19 years. It made the birthday party very special but it was not the only reason for it feeling like a special time for us to gather.

The group of sailors in Titan Marina may be temporary and transient but it is also strong, multi-national and warm. The uncertain future of a landfall in South Africa was for a few happy hours put on hold while the adults chatted and enjoyed watching the children, attired and plastered in Halloween garb, run freely and noisily around the quiet road area, being young, energetic and a little hyper from all the ‘trick or treat’ sweets they had procured on their very successful perambulations of the marina a couple of hours before.

Marjolein from Jori brought a home-made cheesecake complete with candles and we all sang happy birthday. The birthday girl spread out the opening of her presents over the whole evening, her mom, Eva said she liked to make happy things last. Her mom also said that our gift of a cross stitch tapestry of a pink flamingo was perfect because her daughter loved to do crafts to pass the time as sea, so Marjolein’s colouring book also hit the nail on the head.

The placid stray mutts, now more comfortable with the latest batch of strangers than when we first arrived, were eyeing the food laid out as a tempting picnic for all-comers, four legged included, on the soft grass. The one who frequents our area, with his hang down ears and blonde eyebrows, now lets me stroke him, and his friend, a young bitch who looks as if she has already had a litter, is destined to be flown to France soon to be re-homed once her battle wound on her front leg has healed. A Spanish couple took her to the vet to have the wound looked at and have arranged her ‘salvation’ despite her having a life and fellow companions right here. Their hearts are in the right place I believe.

When we first arrived at the party, I noticed there were no bottles of wine, I guessed because it was a young ladies party, so we kept ours in their little woven bag. But then Eva came along, “A little champagne Barb, Rob?” and the celebrations started to swing.

Chats over sail repairs, over-heating engines, future plans, whether to have a free local Covid Test or not, went on until just before 9.00pm when one of the Italians sang a song while strumming his guitar and the evening wound down, the mutts seeing their chances improving with the remaining dishes being unattended.

Now, back to our trip.

Pairs of white-tailed tropic birds contrasted against the green on the mountains in the steep-sided valley as we retraced our track from the day before. Salazie is one of the four main villages located in this cirque and benefits from a sizeable permanent population and the many visitors who come in healthier times. There are many schools suggesting the future of the island as an attractive place to live and raise a family is secure. These inland villages lack the rat race feel of the coastal towns where National Highways are a magnet to traffic and the inevitable, stressful traffic jams.

Fortunately, the N2 divides just where we joined it from our valley road so we were able to bypass Bras Panon and St Benoit and turn a droite, to the right onto the N3 heading for La Plaine des Palmistes and in particular the Domaine des Tourelles, Place of Turrets, which is much more than a souvenir shop. The restored home of a once prestigious family the commodious building and the surrounding small ateliers in the grounds are a window onto the cultural and craft activities of the islands inhabitants. Perfumiers, bronze and pottery crafts, a distillery and brewery, candle wax carvers, herbalists, basket weavers are just a few of the activities to be enjoyed and the site educates school children on the art of sand drawings, horticulture, herbal medicine and small industrial processes such as distilling and brewing.

I weakened to a jar of honey, some Frangipani Perfume, the first I have found to really smell like the real thing, a small relief map of the island to show the 3 calderas of Piton des Neiges and the very live Piton de la Fournaise volcano and Rob decided on the Rhum after a tasting of it and some gin and something similar to Vodka, but not given that specific name for fear of the Russians!

The valley was wider than the one to Salazie and there were good sized fields and plantations but the bends over the next few miles were every bit as hair-raising as the day before. Holsteins and honey brown cows grazed the lush grass or queued up to be milked and rows of maize stood like marching soldiers across the landscape.

I had booked a room in a guest house in Bourg-Murat and we located it before visiting the modern Cite du Volcan Museum which was well worth the time. Our Norwegian friends, Irene and Svein told us how they had walked the five hour walk to the rim of Fournaise when they were on their way home from New Zealand on Lovinda Two in 2017, a few months after it erupted and it has had numerous minor eruptions since then, including the one in 2018 shown on the postcard, behind the Rum.

We drove from Bourg-Murat up, up and even further up to 2136 metres across the low flat Plaine de Remparts and parked in the car park on the postcard near the Pas de Bellecombe in the pouring rain. Many cars had passed us on the way up and we surmised they had started out early for the five hour walk across the Enclos Fouque (the skirt, lower slope) to reach the rim for a look over the top at the moody, stinky cauldron, ever ready to explode into life. You know me. I was quite happy to stand not far from the car park and a very safe distance inland from any possible lava flow, and watch the tiny, humanoid dots walking to and fro for their ‘once in a lifetime’ (a well thrashed phrase if ever there was one) thrill. Memories of the tragedy at White Island off Auckland came to mind.

The rain stopped and miraculously the cloud rose above the 2632 metre summit just for a few seconds so Rob could get his Facebook pic (!)

We became mesmerized as we crawled along behind the recovery vehicle back across the Plaine des Sables until a car behind us whizzed past and we decided to do the same. What a place to break down; the recovery driver had an interesting drive ahead, some of those bends were a challenge even for our little car, let alone a long load with the car tied down at two wheels only.

Back at our guest house the lady of the house welcomed us into a very new reception area complete with open plan lounge one side and breakfast table the other and promptly told us the area was closed and locked after 6.00pm and we would use the access through the garden and around the back after then. While fetching our bags from the car Rob came across a very young puppy in a cage tucked in a recess to the side of the house. It was one of those short grey-coated boxer type dogs that cost a small fortune and looked far from comfortable with just a t-shirt on concrete to lie on. Why, I ask?

Supper that night required no driving, just a short walk down to Restaurant la Kaz where the young gentleman, originally from Senegal and raised for 5 years of his youth in Bolton, and a fellow vegetarian, served Rob a sweet African Curry from his own region and me a vegetable stir fry with a local lentil side dish and chips. Because we were full our liquid desert was a taste of two local rums, on the house.

Apres le Volcan le Deluge

We had an early, carefully measured, breakfast, “Would you like sugar for your tea?” “Would you care for a yoghurt?” We retrieved our packs from the room, wished the shivering pup a better life than he was getting at the moment, (he would have been happier, warmer and better cared for by the stray muts at the marina!) and made our way back down the N3, over the last of the windy roads and beautiful valley views to another tournez a droite onto the D3 towards an old suspension bridge, no longer in use but an engineering marvel in its heyday.

Everywhere in the sugar plantations the odd car or van would be parked up and its occupant tending the young plants or slashing the mature sugar cane. Tractors pulled full loads of the long canes to the local depot ready to be transferred to bigger trailers for the haul to one of the mills for processing. The sides of the road were vertical sided with deep drainage ditches to channel the occasional ‘inundation’ of rainwater from a flash flood running off the heights of volcano, but this is not the Deluge I refer to in the title; more about that a little later.

Back down by the coast and working our way clockwise towards the south of the island we drove down a steep road to the Anse de Cascades, the Cove of Waterfalls, which were running well after the rain showers we were experiencing. At first the rain was torrential and we could hardly make out the waters of the cove except for a fisherman trying his luck beneath a black and white umbrella. Launching the small creole fishing boats from here is apparently a tricky and complex activity, but worth it.

Then the shower passed and a wander through the park like area along a wooden boardwalk and over a wooden bridge, the sound of frogs was delightfully deafening. A long wall of exposed rock face ran with white skirts of frothing water partially hidden behind the spindly young trees planted since the devastation caused by cyclone Fakir in 2018, but the real treat was visible when I climbed some concrete steps leading to the base of some historical winding or pumping equipment alongside a stream. 20 metres or so away was a stand of bamboo, on each swaying stem hung a carefully woven nest all of which were being attended by yellow birds, Yellow Tisserin, hovering with rapid wing-beats beneath and feeding their young before a quick rest on a nearby perch and then off for another foray for food. I hope you can see the yellow blurs and the resting birds, there is a close up of one near the car. I am not sure why it was quite so spell-binding, perhaps because I had only seen this kind of activity before on the television, but I stood for ages, and Rob joined me just to enjoy the busy scene.

The waters of the cove were the theatre of a great battle against the English in 1810, and Anse des Cascades has seen its activity grow since the 19th century and this significant historical episode. The cultures of coffee or corn have, from its origins, made this region a prosperous place. These different cultures were supplanted by that of sugar cane at the beginning of the 19th century. The usefulness of the water from these waterfalls was then proven.

Flowing in abundance, it was used for a very long time to supply factories as well as neighbouring villages. Conducted by a channel, possibly the one in the photo, to a paddle wheel, the water was used to start a hydraulic pump, the remains of which are still visible today, possibly where we were standing. The crops of bananas, vanilla, mandarins and palm kernels have gradually emerged in Reunion, making it possible to maintain an important source of income.

Mascarene Swiftlets darted across the road as we ascended back to the main N2 highway towards the area I had been looking forward to, the Grand Brule, the road across the ancient and recent lava flows from the Volcan Fournaise. Imagine driving along here and having to turn around rather swiftly because piles of orange molten lava are rolling noisily across in front of you, the hot air all around stinking of rotten eggs. Fortunately it didn’t happen to us and we were able to park and take in the scene of cool, solid rock.

The vegetation gave away the age of the flows. Surprisingly quickly algae and lichen forms on the recently cooled lava and then blown seeds germinate and grasses grow followed by spindly trees. A full tropical rain forest takes over three hundred years and I wasn’t sure why all the spindly trees had died unless they were in the path of a subsequent flow. We parked where the flows of 2004 and 2007 had rolled their way to the sea and into the cold waters of the ocean. It was more dramatic than picturesque and we pondered on how frightening it would have been for the people of Tremblet, a small village just beyond the Enclos or raised wall around the flow, who wonder quite often if the latest eruption will engulf their homes.

A little way beyond the coastal town of St Philippe is the Cap Mechant (nasty, miserable, terrific in this context) at the base of La Vallee Heureuse, Happy Valley(!) and we strolled around this incredibly wild area where the true vigour of the SW weather and sea was venting itself against the resistant lava cliffs. No wonder this area is known as the Sauvage Sud. I wanted a really good photo of the impact of water on rock for you. I waited and clicked, waited and clicked and then got the image I wanted, and then got very wet!

Apres le Deluge le Refuge de St Paul

A little further along the N2 highway we came across dense traffic, reminding us of the M25, London orbital, and we sat for long periods in stationary traffic near St Joseph, St Pierre and St Louis, so instead of visiting these towns, two with old ports, we headed on along a second highway, no doubt built to relieve the congestion near these popular coastal towns, The Route des Tamarins and soon found ourselves in the charming and historic St Paul, just a short distance SW of Le Port and Zoonie, our circumnavigation of the island nearly complete.

We welcomed the dry warmth of this sun-bathed place after the cool and moist higher altitude of the pitons and dived into a restaurant for a late lunch with a glass of red wine. A wander along the inviting shore-front and a little immersion in history was called for and we were only too happy to escape the twenty first century tarmac rat race, back in time to a world of pirates, French and English battle ships of the 18th century, cannon fire, smoke, splintering wood, fountains of blood, imprisonment and slavery. It wasn’t hard for us to imagine as we are presently embarking on the final series of Black Sails, in its heady mix of fiction and non-fictional story-telling of similar human efforts in the birth of a nation, this time Nassau, Bahamas. Here, the more recent history of agricultural wealth made possible by slavery, the giant manacles will ensure that residents and visitors alike will never forget the struggle and human sacrifice that gave birth to modern day La Reunion.

From the end of the modern pier, we could look back at the pretty bay and imagine the first permanent inhabitants arriving here in the 17th century. Some of the 19th century basalt rock built buildings still stand including the fine pale yellow double fronted building with its columned and enclosed balcony which I believe is now a hotel. The 21st Century road tunnel through the cold basalt rock completed our tour through time of this lovely island; with all its contrasts of culture, topography, nationalities, climates, traditions and cuisines it is small wonder it is affectionately known as L’Ile Intense.

I have included a picture of the Orange and charcoal Agama Lizard because we saw them everywhere, they are a cute mix of shy and curious. The Red Fody birds are so shy and quick they are impossible to photograph except from an existing picture and the white Reunion Dodo bird is equally impossible but in its case because, as you know, it did not outlive its reputation for being fearless and tasty. Apparently geneticists somewhere are optimistic they can re-create the DNA of this Dodo!

Tomorrow we plan to take a bus to visit St Denis, the island’s capital on the north shore as it would be a shame to leave the island without seeing its capital and it is so close.