Travelogue La Réunion-Mauritius 25/02-11/03/15

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Wednesday - Thursday 25-26/02/15

Taking the TGV to CDG airport Paris. It's packed with soldiers with Kalashnikovs. After Charlie Hebdo. With Air Austral, it's a 10.5-hour flight with a time zone difference of only 3 hours. Landed in the morning and picked up a rental car at Roland Garros Airport. Straight to the west coast along the N1, the Route des Tamarins, the only highway from Saint-Denis to the south, following the coastline. Sometimes with sharp mountainsides and gorges with giant nets to stop falling boulders. Next to us is the sea. So, between the shore and the water. In Saint-Gilles-les-Bains, we strolled around the town center where we found the only three terraces "like ours" on the island. The heat and still in jeans meant thirst. I found Grimbergen on tap, the only place I'd find it this week, because otherwise, the local Dodo beer dominated everywhere. A fresh, simple pilsner, and depending on where you drink it, costs €1.20 to €3.50 in hotels. It features the image of the dodo, practically the national bird, even though it's extinct.

We will be staying for two days in the charming Creole hotel Le Nautile, which is located between two

authentic buildings, a swimming pool, and a bar/restaurant full of giant jars of "rum arrangé" (various combinations of fruits left to steep for months). We get a room with a terrace and direct access to the wonderful pool. On the other side, it faces the Indian Ocean with an exceptional sandy beach, because this isn't really a beach island. Next week, Mauritius will be. I immediately jump into the warm and calm sea, sheltered by a long coral reef. Luckily, there's a breeze, as it's over 30°C. Dinner in St. Gilles. We're tempted by a "Creole specialty platter" that promises dozens of different appetizers. But they all turn out to be fried puff pastry snacks with various fillings, which you can hardly taste, of course... Disappointment. Back at the hotel, we find the (expensive) restaurant "full house."

Friday 27/02/15

The next morning to St. Paul. First a lovely breakfast outside surrounded by dozens of small

Little birds that clearly want to join in the meal and even make off with one of Nella's pills. Imagine if he swallowed it too, a little bomb of estrogen.

The market in St. Paul, the largest in the country, is a challenge to find a parking spot, but it's a whirlwind of scents, colors, and activity. Countless spices and a symphony of tropical fruits and vegetables, some of which are still unfamiliar to me. And masses of vanilla roots, for which this island is famous. But also artisanal objects and tempting knickknacks. We can't stop looking, but we're thirsty and hot. In the heat, we'll also visit a Hindu temple, as always, wonderfully colorful with those pastel shades, always an exotic fable.

Saturday 28/02/15

By car to Cirque de Malfate. We experience the slowly changing landscapes as we climb.

From plantations (bananas, abundant sugarcane, pineapple) to lush deciduous forest, low shrubs to bare, stony rocks and mosses. Views of a coastline where the clouds above are already below our eye level. Arriving at Piton Maïdo, we glanced at the Cirque (cauldron). Impressive, deep-green, impressive flanks, but then, in the blink of an eye, misty clouds rose from the valley itself, and we saw nothing below. An occasional snippet. A truly remarkable phenomenon. The view of Piton des Neiges (the highest peak in the Indian Ocean (3,070 m)), which dominates the island, was superb, and the volcanic landscape was quite impressive. Then we descended back to the coast to climb a little further to the Cirque de Cilaos. And we certainly knew what we were up to...

Réunion is a roughly egg-shaped island (70 by 50 km) that you can drive around following the coast in less than 3.5 hours (207 km of coastline). The interior is dominated by three cirques, the central Piton des Neiges, and in the southwest by the still-living volcano Piton de la Fournaise (2632 m), which has erupted in recent decades. It boasts incredible plateaus, massive cliffs, gorges, and a wide lava flow that flows into the sea. The island lies west of Madagascar and is therefore geographically part of Southeast Africa, but politically part of Europe as an overseas French territory, which includes Martinique, Guadeloupe, and French Polynesia. Ninety-five percent of the population is Catholic, and the first language, besides Creole, is French, of course, though everyone also speaks English. The currency is the euro, of course.

There aren't many tourists this time of year, mainly French. There's only one central point to cross the island. All other roads up the island mean driving back the same way.

On our way to Cilaos, we follow a river at the bottom of a deep gorge with stunning rock formations and lush greenery. And then it begins. We follow a road that climbs so steeply that I can practically only drive in first and second gear for 45 minutes, right next to steep slopes on the left and a deep ravine on the right. Then, 500 (!) tight U-turns begin, banking sharply after the curve, where you never see what's coming from the other side. Honking is the order of the day. There are even stretches where only one car can pass. And if you don't see anything coming... It can be quite frighteningly exciting at times.

The Peugeot 208 screeches and squeals through the hairpin bends. The engine roars, and I twist the steering wheel like mad, going from left to right through 500 bends. Afterwards, my shoulders ache. Along the way, there are three narrow tunnels where only one car can go in one direction, so if you see oncoming traffic, it means reversing into a dark, long, narrow corridor.

This is the only road to Cilaos where everything is 20% more expensive, because everything has to be brought here. How the buses manage is a mystery to me. It's already late afternoon and finally something for the

In the village, we see a snack bar with, like everywhere else, a long list of food, just a few cheap plastic chairs, and no other compliments. I just pick something and get half a baguette with ham, lettuce, spicy sauce, and fries. The whole thing warmed up and topped with cheese. Hmm.

Shortly afterward, we arrive at our hotel, large and brimming with colorful Creole charm. We're located just outside the charming town center, dominated by a striking white church tower. The hotel heavily advertises its all-you-can-eat buffet, which features a variety of local specialties. So we go for it, but it gets quite crowded, and we, among the last, have to scrape for the last morsels. Sleeping is without air conditioning, but it's considerably cooler (23°C). We're covered in mosquito bites and have been covered in large red spots all week, especially on our lower legs. But we never see or hear a mosquito.

Sunday 1/03/15

After a short drive for a magnificent view over Cilaos and a steel blue sky above the deep green mountain ridges that encircle us, which always later in the day form a misty cloud veil

We decide to have a light lunch by the lake in a family picnic-like setting. The best deal is simple: a super tender piece of chicken with fries on disposable plates. We sit among the locals who are clearly enjoying their Sunday. Then we have a swim in the small pool and dinner at the hotel.

I'm enjoying the swordfish combava (with delicious lime kefir) and rougaille on the side (a kind of tomato brittle sauce in a spicy herb mix). This side dish is made with all sorts of things, really. Spicy pineapple, anyone? And yet, you won't find any peppers or anything allspice in it. Everything here comes with white rice and the specialty grown here: lentils, small but delicate and exceptionally flavorful. The same goes for the red beans. The cuisine can hardly be called refined, as is the case in many Asian countries. The cari (carry) is the number one dish everywhere, comparable to Indonesian curries (which have hundreds of variations), but the cari here, with fish, chicken, meat, or shrimp, isn't that special either. I'm trying to learn some Creole. Comment ça va = comment i lé , pourquoi = pokoué , rien du tout = zero calebasse , svp = siouplé . So guess what it is: zori, domin, yièr ? Oh yeah, 'ti rum' is just a small rum.

Monday 2/03/15

We check out and then it's back downhill with breathtaking views and curves. Those 500 hairpin bends long. I drive for about 35 minutes in point-mort.

It's sometimes a bit of a shock, but if there's an exceptional opportunity to stop at a viewpoint, we'll risk it. We have to get to the volcano, which means descending to the coast and then climbing back up a bit further.

After a quick visit to Entre-Deux, a charming village that deserved more attention from us, we continue via Le Tampon (yes, they have nice names here), to La Plaine des Cafres, and then on to Bourg-Murat, the final stop and possible base for the volcano. The only hotel is a two-star. After the bathrooms with a double seat and bathtub, that will mean minimal comfort and only Wi-Fi at the reception.

Just before the village, we're stuck in a traffic jam that barely moves, even though we can see the hotel on the left. Desperate, I even maneuver into the oncoming lane with Nella a bit further ahead, just in case... Fortunately, there's little oncoming traffic, and a little further to the left, we're there right away. The receptionist tells us it's just a slow traffic jam in front of the gas station, of which there's only one here.

But hundreds of cars waiting in line for fuel for at least an hour? It won't hit us until the evening when we hear on the news that the gasoline distributors are on strike.

We visit the highly recommended Maison du Volcan, a modern complex, one of the

One of the most magnificent multimedia museums I've ever seen; there's even 4D projection. That's how I envisioned the Historium in Bruges, highly informative and educational with today's resources. The most impressive and downright overwhelming images, films, and presentations assault us. God, what an absolute must-do! Besides, tomorrow we have a visit to the volcano itself on the agenda. That means getting up early and arriving at the destination before nine o'clock, otherwise you risk clouds and zero visibility. We eat at the hotel restaurant, which is okay, although the interior looks almost Tyrolean. I have rougaille de saucisses. Sausage, yes, but with a unique smoked flavor.

Tuesday 3/03/15

On our way to the volcano, we once again experienced the most incredible sights and impressions of solidified lava, further enhanced by the impressive informational experience in the museum yesterday.

There we saw close-ups of lava forming under the sea and turning into coral, all still overshadowed by images of recent eruptions and other disastrous events.

We see masses of pitons, small hills that are already forested, crater-like cliffs, and rocks in all imaginable shapes. The colors turn gray, ochre, rust brown, terracotta, dirty brown, black...

And then… there's the Plaine des Sables, a delightful, otherworldly plain stretching out before us, through which we jolt and bump (holes! ridges!). A veritable lunar landscape. Spacey. Out-of-this-world. It invites me to serve as a film set. Yesterday it was Indiana Jones, now Star Wars. I've seen so many volcanoes and landscapes (Lanzarote, Iceland, Hawaii, Santorini, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Bali, etc.), but this one takes the cake.

Shortly afterward, we reach the end point: a huge circular crater containing a surprising mini-crater of a completely different substance, and in the center, the double main crater and a wide lava strip that slopes down into the sea. Wawkes.

We climb and scramble and take photos to the bone. Lots of hikers, because this island offers the ultimate in adventurous and physically challenging hikes for the experienced.

Enthusiasts, even descending into the crater wall itself. Quite thrilling considering the lava eruptions that have occurred in recent decades. We return overwhelmed. On the way back, we visit even more immensely deep crater pits and special viewpoints.

But the tension is slowly rising. In two days, we have to go from the south to the north, and then to the airport for our flight to Mauritius. Will we make it with a ¾ tank? Once we descend, the situation turns out to be downright dire. Either the gas stations are empty, or hundreds of cars and trucks are queuing. I calculate we'll make it. But we don't want to risk anything. If there's a station with only six cars, I'll go for it. But soon a gendarme comes to ask us if we're an emergency or medical service: " Monsieur, all stations are confiscated !"

We arrive in Pierrefonds, at the hotel La Domaine des Pierres, with a beautiful interior made of massive pieces of polished wood. We are given a luxury room, almost a mini-villa.

In just a month and a half, we've been married for 25 years, and we're always happy to mention it, which adds a special touch to everything. The setting of this hotel, with its beautiful tropical garden next to it (a visitor attraction, but free for us), is beautiful and romantic, with emperor palms taking pride of place everywhere.

We have lunch a bit further away, a combination of sandwiches from a baker, beers from a mini-market, and samoussas, spicy snacks from a stall. Well, me anyway. Then it's time for a nap and a swim in a lovely pool, all to ourselves. We eat in the restaurant where only four people are sitting, nice and outdoors. And then sleep. But I'm awake again at 4 a.m. and hear that it's raining. "All day," says my iPad. Well. "Know that a continuous downpour here could dump as much water as in Paris in a year," my Geoguide tells me. And also that it's the height of cyclone risk season. A week after our return, one of the worst cyclones ever will reduce Vanuatu to a disaster zone, albeit a long way from here.

Wednesday 4/03/15

Going to breakfast with the umbrella. During a rain break, I walk alone along the winding path of the tropical park. No soul. Giant water lilies, bonsai gardens, strange plant species, palm trees from the Comoros, mounted colorful juggernauts of butterflies, flowers, flowers in greenhouses, up and down bridges, and in a pond, a replica of the island built from various rocks, including a special pink crystalline stone that can be found everywhere here as garden decoration. I walk briskly past a cactus forest. Suddenly, I feel a sting in my upper arm. A fist-thick piece of cactus with long spines that have dug into my arm through my T-shirt hangs torn off from my arm. Finger-long, sturdy, pin-like spines. I can't remove the thing. On the contrary, I keep prickling myself. It's no use. The cactus clings to me. So I keep walking and finally find a man of color who gently frees me. "It's like an anemone," he says. "It's sticky and difficult to remove." Because it's so unique and I want to show the prick bomb to Nella, I try to isolate it and somehow remove the thing, but I can't. Afterwards, it turns out there are five beautiful dots in my skin. A bright red bird—it couldn't be redder—looks at me with pity.

North via the south and southeast coast. What a pleasure to drive. Through towns, hamlets,

Rugged nature, picturesque spots, and stunning mountain and ocean views. Then a little "slumber"

because it's an hours-long drive all the way to Hell-Bourg in the third and final cirque, the Cirque de Salazie. Exuberant green and then, smack, a brown expanse of lava rocks, the slope down which the volcano plunged into the sea. The road suddenly cuts through a capricious, petrified stream where here and there a few tentative ferns and mosses begin to spring up. Fiery vomit stopped and congealed in the ocean. And this just after l'Anse des Cascades, a green, idyllic spot where waterfalls plunge high and narrow almost directly into the sea. An oasis with super-thick trees full of mighty, spreading roots and lianas. An old lady at a small stall mixes me a superb drink with six different tropical fruits and some ice. Exotic on the tongue and down the esophagus.

After Saint-Rose, it's back uphill. Full of small rivers and numerous waterfalls cascading down steep mountainsides. It's endearing and more manageable than before. No wonder this small island boasts so many diverse microclimates. Sometimes the overgrown rocks overhang the road, and water pours down, making it feel like you're driving through a car wash for a few seconds. That's why you don't see any convertibles here, which isn't recommended anyway with the sun shining brightly through the familiar cloud cover. In a nice spot next to a bridge, we find a charming little restaurant where I eat a Massalé Boucamé, smoked pork on marrowbones in a sauce.

Then, after Cilaos, comes Hell-Bourg, the only overseas village among the "most beautiful villages in France." Creole wooden houses with balconies nestle in lush vegetation surrounded by razor-sharp green mountainsides. It has one main street, along which also passes the charming, primitive village hall.

The hotel is located. The hostess takes us to a pavilion with a small garden across the street. An antique room with charming Uncle Tom-esque Creole furniture, but with a giant bathtub for two. There's no air conditioning, but hey, we're at 900 meters. There's a huge, fat, giant spider hanging between the palm trees outside our front door...

The village is charming, but it's actually quite easy to see. There are a few nice boutiques and one place to eat and drink with two chairs on the sidewalk, where I sit with a beer and watch some shabby, picturesque outcasts and street dogs hanging out. Some are downright photogenic, gray-haired, character-faced in disheveled attire. A wizened, dirty man addresses me: "Comment i lè?" I have to slap his hand and then fist-to-fist, the greeting here. But I can't understand him, and he seems drunk or crazy. Later, when he sees Nella with her electronic cigarette, he makes a racket, "pa bjieng," he mutters disapprovingly. Perhaps he thinks it's a sophisticated drug device? As we're going to bed, a noisy family next door (five people and a whining child) keeps us awake. Wow, the walls feel like cardboard.

Thursday 5/03/15

We drive to Saint-Denis, the capital, where we're scheduled to catch our flight to Mauritius in the late afternoon. We stroll along the coastal path and order a bite to eat at the famous Le Barachois food market. Typical but well-stocked food stalls with a laundry list of affordable food, each with its own, well, terrace. You order, take away, and enjoy from plastic, drinking from cans or bottles, but it's totally my thing: authentic, no-nonsense food, delicious. Much cheaper than "real" restaurants. I find street food in Thailand and Vietnam, for example, super safe, so why not here? Although I once learned that it's not the same in South America (two food poisoning incidents, a long time ago). The cuisine here is OK but nowhere near the culinary richness of Indochina and Thailand.

I'd been worried about the full tank I had to return to Hertz, and there are still endless lines everywhere. But near the airport, the Peugeot turns out to be even half full, and somewhere we quickly find service. Using bottles filled with water and a roll of toilet paper, we try to clean up the car a bit, because it has to be returned clean or we'll be charged €41. After just our second day at the Vogeltjesparadijs hotel, after pulling out from under a tree, about ten large plaques were on our windshield. Small birds, great souvenirs. Add the dust from La Plaine des Sables and the mud after the rain showers later, and you can imagine it was necessary.

The flight to Mauritius in a modest plane takes only 45 minutes. We're taken north by a driver from Mauretoco, the local agent, along the only highway that cuts straight through the island to the capital, Saint-Louis, which we cross to La Grand Baie. The man tells us at length about his country, which also boasts a tolerant, interfaith society. Proudly, he says there's almost no unemployment compared to La Réunion. But, he posits, they get unemployment benefits there, not here, so why work if you get paid by lazy people? That "doesn't work"? Our unions should hear that. And strangely, our one-day driver told us the exact same thing in booming Kuala Lumpur, exactly a year ago. It's food for thought, because both were very critical, yet proud, of their low unemployment rate.

Mauritius, smaller and flatter than Réunion, is 64 km long and 55 km wide and looked stunning from the air, with hundreds of dream beaches sheltered by reefs, coves, and exuberant palm trees. Along the way, we enjoyed a spectacular sunset. It only took us 1 hour and 15 minutes because, reportedly, rush hour here is usually much longer. We chose La Baie because it's the only resort close to a charming town within walking distance, so you're not "locked in" in your (although generally beautiful) hotel. And that proved to be the case. Just a quick stroll along the beach and past the fishing and pleasure boats leads to a vibrant atmosphere of restaurants, boutiques, bars, and local meeting points, all along a single street by the beach in the bay, with enough local flair to remain inviting. There's less to see than in La Réunion. But these five days are designed as a rest-relax-relax holiday.

Hotel La Mauricia is quite large, but like everywhere here, no higher than two stories. Mauritius isn't the Belgian coast; each resort has its own green space. It means room view.

The sea is blocked by trees in the garden. With its palm trees, the large pine arbre (fruits resembling swollen green avocados), flowers, and landscaping, it's somewhat reminiscent of the Bali Hyatt. The beach is essentially private, but anyone can walk past it, which rarely happens. The hotel required half board, which is actually against our principles, but hey, we can always look for something small and tasty in the afternoon.

The buffet is enormous, with plenty of live cooking. Dining at a table right next to the expansive pool evokes a real holiday feeling. And I enjoy the delicious fruit salad every day. The welcome is personal, not at a counter, but with a drink on the sofa. We already received a substantial discount for our anniversary. But what's more, two swans await us in our room, folded together in a heart shape, made of bath towels and with the words "25 years" fashioned from twigs. Cute.

Friday 6/03/15

Sunbathing and exploring La Baie. Pleasant, but hot and sticky. Everything is more expensive than expected. So we drag along a supply of water, beer, and soft drinks from a supermarket.

Because that's a huge difference compared to hotel or minibar prices. €1 instead of €4. Phoenix is the multi-award-winning pilsner here. Thanks to Belgian input, I hear. Afterwards, I enjoy several dips in the lovely pool. Every evening there's a themed buffet; yesterday it was Asian, today it was Maritian. Six black beauties with swirling, wide-flared skirts enter, driven by the fiery percussion of five men with hand drums and tambourines. They dance throughout the enormous restaurant. The rousing rhythm immediately captivates me. While everyone watches apathetically, I start swinging along and, wearing the bandleader's hat, end up as a wild triangle accompanist. Phew, that was atmosphere.

Later we pass the show and dance floor next to the pool on the other side of the garden

Where an orchestra performs every evening. The same group begins a lavish folklore show. Captivating, with those enormous skirts lifted high as a real eye-catcher. Many photos are taken, because the swing of the beautiful milk chocolate girls in their frivolous traditional costumes, accompanied by a simple, catchy beat and Creole chants, is irresistible. At the end, the inevitable audience-joins-in moment arrives. I cowardly hide behind my camera, busy, but Nella is the victim. They learn to spin hands, bake cookies, make pies, rock the cradle, and… fries, shake your bottom. The ritual continues… et alors on danse .

Saturday 7/03/15

It's raining cats and dogs, but it remains sultry. Your glasses fog up when you go from your room to your terrace. Wi-Fi is available everywhere around the pool, the central lobbies, and the pool area, but not

In the rooms. Using iPads means a water movie on your screen after a minute. The hotel overlooking the bay and the boats has a bar called Bay Watch Bar—what's in a name?—but even that's deserted. I'm going swimming in the rain, which is always wonderful in the tropics. Walking through the rain in my swimsuit has a certain charm, even though I'm the only one. The moisture blows everywhere inside and over the high-roofed areas, meters inside. Hydrogen splashes around. For the staff, it's mopping with… right. There's a two-hour rain reprieve at noon, and we eat in La Baie at a primitive mini-food stall for the locals, and then take a rest day. Nella buys herself a delightful, light summer dress, but it will take a lot of paperwork and customs procedures to finally get a mere €7 in VAT back at the airport.

Sunday 8/03/15

It's gray and constantly cloudy, but there's hope. After a while, it's manageable to sunbathe behind the clouds on the damp lounger mattresses. Swimming dips are still a must, as you sweat quickly.

Monday 9/03/15

See Saturday. Killing time, naps, surfing the internet, reading. A trip was out of the question from the start.

More, because it was fully booked, including rental cars. So no giant tortoises, nor the famous Pamplemousse Gardens, nor other beautiful coastlines with enchanting sandy beaches. But don't worry. We're happy, and these 14 days have been good, I think over an exotic house cocktail.

Tuesday - Wednesday 10-11/03/15

We're not picked up until 2:30 PM to go to the airport. And thanks to the facilities offered after checkout, you can shower and change, and so on, so I'm still working on a tan under the bright sun that moves from right to left across the sky.

From Mauritius to Réunion and then check-in again for Paris, where a delay turns the gate waiting area into a chaotic mess and the snack stand quickly sells out. We have a long wait for our luggage in CDG, but hey, we still catch our TGV and arrive in Bruges at 11:00 AM.

More photos at: https://www.flickr.com/photos/wimvanbesien/sets/72157650930165399/