Fail Week and the Completion Thereof

Guess. Just GUESS where I went this weekend!
I'll give you a couple of clues...

It's not China; it's not Fern Gulley; it's not the scene of the first Twilight film. But it does look like all of the above! After a very unsuccessful first attempt at hiking last weekend, and really a very unsuccessful week as a whole, Kira and I dashed out of class a few minutes early yesterday as Mme Gautier went on about "stardust amidst the sumptuous serenity" in Translation Theme Litteraire, and caught the 12:35 bus up and out of Saint Denis. With our packs, hiking shoes, and itinerary ready to go, we approached the Roche Ecrite (Written Rock) National Park, sans failure.

For the first REAL hike of my life, I proudly announce that A. I made it! and B. It was awesome.

La Roche Ecrite is a 2270-meter-high viewpoint over the entire Cirque de Salazie, along with a nifty glance into most of Mafate and as a perk, the trail allowed for a pretty impressive panorama of the northern coast of the island. [The interior of the island is made up of three "cirques," or geological ampitheaters created 200,000 years ago by an extinct volcano.]

So yes... we trekked through quite the terrain: through bamboo, tamarins, and all other kinds of incredible vegetation, over mud, rocks, clay, makeshift boardwalks over muddy rocky clay, slats of eroded dried lava, and under, over, and around all sorts of trees, trees, and more trees.

To make sure and arrive at the viewpoint in the early part of morning so as not to risk cloud-cover disrupting the sight, we hiked the first 2.5 hours yesterday afternoon to a Gite de la Montagne: a little dormatory-style cabin high up in the mountains. We went to bed early and got up at 5 this morning to prepare our excited little selves for the remaining 1.5 hours to the top. Too bad we had to wait until 6 for the silly sun to illuminate the path enough to hike. Nonetheless, by 7:30 I was gasping for breath from the steep climb, only to arrive at the top and have all remaining traces of said breath taken away by the incredible view.


The descent was a workout as well, carefully watching our footing on the slippery trail. On the way down, we came across MANY runners, (yes! Running!) supposedly training for the Grand Raid, an annual race through the island covering something like 150km and 9000 meters of elevation change that takes place each October. One of these runners thoughtfully told me "Faites attention: ca glise." Oh really? Hmm... I didn't know it was slippery... I haven't already climbed up and halfway back down or anything....

Anyway, we got back to the trail head at Mamode Camp at noon and let our muscles rest/spaz while we ate what remained of our packed food. As we began to finish off the hike by taking the 45-minute path back to the bus stop at Brule, a car full of hikers we'd passed early this morning offered us a ride back to town. Thanks to them, we were within a mile of campus by the time we SHOULD have been getting on the first of two buses home. Glory! Fail week, officially over!

But.

I learned the French word for "goal." But.

I also learned the word for "to reach (a goal)," but I forgot it.

This week has been something I bitterly and affectionately refer to as "Fail Week." I'm on my fifth week into this adventure, and I admit it's been a difficult one. There have been the regular ups-and-downs, but maybe a couple stronger downs the past few days, what with the stress of starting to teach English next week, finding out that two of my classes switched their hours to conflict with each other, and also I feel pretty out of shape and awkward-looking with my slightly-too-grown-out short haircut. This all came after a really tough Sunday and Monday.

Sunday I got news that Nate Perkins, an old friend and somewhat of a spiritual leader in my life, passed away in a serious car accident last weekend. I really feel compassion for his life, and I wish I were in Springfield to give a hug, or at least get one.

Monday was a long day: Kira and I attempted an early morning trek up Le Maido, which is supposed to be a pretty impressive view on the western rim, 2000 some meters high. We woke up at 4:30 and took the first city bus of the day to the Car Jaune (inter-city bus) station, caught the 5:40 to St. Paul and arrived there at 6:12, only to find out that the ONLY bus going to Le Maido before noon had left at 6:00. Considering that the whole point of the hike is getting to the viewpoint before the clouds roll in between 8 and 10 am, we gave up on the mountain for the day.

Determined not to make a total waste of our Monday, we got back on Car Jaune to St. Pierre, on the opposite side of the island from St. Denis to wander around and see what this city has to offer. After a walk on the beach, a couple clothing purchases, and very long walk to NOT the bus station, then TO the bus station (Asking directions to the Car Jaune War/Guerre, rather than the Car Jaune Station/Gare=whoops) we finally got back on the bus home at 1pm. We hoped we'd finally get to see the interior of the island by taking the bus through the mountains, supposedly labeled "St. Denis par les hauts (by the heights)" Turns out that bus, the evil C route, is a three-hour jaunt up and down the exterior hills above the coastal cities. Gross. We got home tired, hungry, and very much defeated.

Speaking of defeat... last week I thought of trying to give up chocolate for Lent. I made it until 8pm of the first day. Last Sunday we went to a really pretty beach that is way better for swimming than the others I've been to thus far. The fish and coral were gorgeous and brightly colored, just like the blood that found its way out the top of my foot in SEVEN different spots from one very effective, comprehensive coral "bite." Ankle, top of foot, and all five toes on my poor little lefty all skinned. Aie. [The good news, though, is that the dreaded Staph has stayed at bay... or maybe at ocean. Either way, it's stayed there and not in my body.]

So moral of the story is? Next week, I declare, shall be better, starting tomorrow. Kira and I have plans to bus/hitchhike/hike to a Gite de la Montagne above St. Denis tomorrow afternoon, then get up really early Saturday to hike the 1.5 hours to La Roche Ecrite (Written Rock) for a view of the entirety of the Cirque de Mafate, then a four-hour return journey. Pray it goes smoothly, please. Alright, Fail Week, be over before we start this hike.

Now I'm just waiting to get to the "but."

Je blague, Je blog...

Oh man, today was so blogworthy.

So two days ago, the 5 American students here all got an email about a little trip to Le Port to visit some US Navy stationed there. Cool. Awkward.
We ended up going on a bus hired by the university to take an International Relations class - so it was less out-of-place. We ended up getting tours (in English!) of two ships: one high speed catamaran used for shipping cargo and training officers, and one guided missile frigate, minus the guided missiles, mostly used for training foreign navy. The tours were actually really interesting, and we got some sweet pictures of French navy uniforms that may or may not resemble the type of shirt generally worn by menopausal women in August -- square-boat-necked white things that were something short of masculine.

Hands down, though, the best part of the day was when a couple of the enlisted, smiling as we walked by, reacted to Heather's short, friendly, and clearly anglophone "Hello" with a dramatic stopping-in-their-tracks, an arm swing that resembled how-to-survive-a-tropical-storm safety protocol, and a Samson Latchison style, "WHOA! YOU SPEAK ENGLISH!" It was glorious. I also said something to another crew member who told me, "You know, you almost sound American." Good. Maybe that's because I am American.

Being American has its pros and cons. One of the cons is that I've somehow made it to nearly 21 years old without ever actually seeing a Hilter mustache in real life. Well, at least, until today. Yes. That's right. I actually saw a man with an Adolf 'stache. It was gray, and the man was really skinny, so he luckily didn't look anything like the world's most famous totalitarian dictator.

I'm kind of bummed that I passed up the only opportunity to buy root beer that I've had in a month. One of the ships had a vending machine, but I left all my American coins at home.

Interestingly enough, I've found a couple friends here with very similar music tastes to me. Not surprising with Will, the Brit... but Even, the Norweigan? Hmm... didn't really expect to scroll through my new friends' music and see Sufjan and Ryan Adams, but I'm certainly not complaining.

Speaking of music: If I haven't told you yet, I hear QUITE a bit of American pop music here. Much more than I ever listen to in the States. I have a neighbor here on the sixth floor who has a rather impressive sound system in his room, and his favorite song is apparently "Down" by Jay Sean/Lil Wayne. I hear it incessantly. On the up side, I'm really starting to think that I just might learn to love Rihanna, Alicia Keys, and Jay-Z.

Also, my Norweigan friend Even (who definitely knows English well) had a copy of Jack Kerouac's Dharma Bums sitting in his room last night and offered to let me borrow it. This is quite a highlight in my week, considering that the only real reading I've been doing recently is either in French (thus does not keep my attention well) or otherwise ridiculously boring. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, you bore me. Of Human Bondage... I'll give you another chance. Later. I also bought Tristan and Isolde in French, so that should prove interesting.

Alright, well it's nearly 6:30pm and I'm rather hungry. Got up at 6:15 this morning for a 7am class (after a brief chat with my favorite niece/sister/brother-in-law) and ended up eating lunch at 10am.

Resume = Summary

A brief summary of what life is actually like in Saint-Denis, La Reunion, France.

The city is just like its inhabitants: entirely Creole. It is a blend of cultures, traditions, and worlds. St. Denis is on the northern coast of the island, and like most of the cities, is surrounded by towering green curtains of mountainside.

The buildings are gorgeous and quaint, French and tropical. Walking down the street, you see bare midriffs and hijabs, all clothes in brilliant blues and yellows, or maybe a classy all-black ensemble. There are women who carry woven baskets as purses (including me, these days) and women who carry packages on their heads.

The Reunionnais are beautiful people. They are of creole nationality, so basically everyone is everything. The average person comes from Chinese, Indian, African, European ancestry. That's not one of the the above; it's all of the above. The result is gorgeous. [But no, I'm not going to get a Reunionais boyfriend.] There are people who appear to be more strongly one of the above than they look anything else, but many people simply have a medium-dark complexion, dark hair, and facial features that simply can't be placed. There are families with small children everywhere, and almost every time the parents appear to be of two different ethnic backgrounds. White people aren't really scarce, but pale ones like me stick out as foreigners. Everyone assumes I'm German since I apparently look it, plus the island hosts a lot more Germans and English than Americans. (Go figure... it's not like the airfare is ridiculously expensive or anything....)

Oh that reminds me - people don't get sarcasm. Both the Reunionnaises and Europeans studying here have given me strange looks after some comment that is CLEARLY sarcastic in my American viewpoint. It's actually a rather funny aspect of communication.

So describing Reunion: There are department stores and cell phone stores and, twice a week, an open-air market for fresh product, meat, clothes, and handcrafted gifts. Life is much more relaxed here. I'm starting to think that the only thing they take seriously is their leisure time: This place has some of the best outdoor sports imaginable. There are countless hiking trails, beaches for swimming, surfing, sailing, diving, fishing; there's paragliding, mountain biking... the list goes on.

There are beaches, mountains, a volcano, three cirques (which are huge natural amphitheaters formed by the volcano that created the island), there are waterfalls, palm trees, and even more I have yet to see.

Religion here is interesting: Hinduism, Islam, and Christianity coexist with virtually no discord. I have a lot more to learn about religion here, but I'll keep you informed.

Well that's all I've got for now. If there's anything you'd like described, please comment and I'd be glad to put more up for you.

Two of the best showers ever.

It followed me. Staph.
Or rather, it found me again. You think you can escape something like that by traveling half way around the world, but then it rains and the ravines empty into the ocean and then suddenly there's a newspaper article brought to your attention a few hours too late warning you not to swim in any of the western coast beaches. Dangit. (In case you didn't know, about 9 of my friends, including myself, got staph infections last semester, likely originating from the most incredibly fun homemade slip-n-slide ever. I still think it was worth it.)

Actually I don't have staph... or at least not yet. But I am keeping an eye on anywhere I may have had any little cuts, etc yesterday.

Okay, so I'll add a few pictures, but here's a little rundown of my weekend.
Get up Saturday morning, pack backpack, meet up with 15 other international students, walk to bus, bus to Car Jaune station, Car Jaune to St. Gilles, walk up a long, hot, trafficky road, find entrance to Les Trois Bassins (The three basins.) Take gorgeous hike through foliage, cave-tunnels, ankle-deep water, etc to find ourselves at the foot of a waterfall. Gorgeous

Eat, take pictures, hike more, find another waterfall, go swimming.
Stand inside a waterfall. (Yes, it was as wonderful as it sounds.)
Hike back out of the Bassins (much more difficult than hiking in), walk down long hill, Car Jaune to St. Leu, eat sandwich and icecream, wait for hostel owners.
Go to the best concert I've ever seen in my life. Dance for three hours.








Stay up talking, sleep on the beach.
Wake up on the beach.
Swim in the Indian Ocean.
Come home with another sunburn, 279 pictures, a lot more friends, and a confident assurance that there isn't anywhere else I'd rather be than right where I am.

Yeah, I think I'll call that a good weekend.
Oh yeah. And I don't have classes on Mondays.

I'm moving to France! Kind of...

Well, I was planning on going on some long rampant about how the culture around me is full of "tropical" vibe, but also clearly French at the same time, but I've got rock climbing class in 45 minutes, so I'll elaborate later.

I just had a pineapple-and-Nutella mid-afternoon snack.

News: I'm making friends!
Finally, the ERASMUS students (Europeans) have arrived and the Americans no longer have the entire Cite Internationale (the residence hall I live in) to ourselves. So far I've encountered a few Brits, a couple Norweigans, some Germans, and one girl who just considers herself "European," because she has such a mixed background. Sweet. The last couple of days have treated me well: new friends, new classes, and Nutella. (If you haven't tried this delicious chocolate spread before, go to the grocery store and get some RIGHT now.)

No more alien attacks, as of yet. Bought a new dress, something simple and cool that I don't have to wear layers with. Ten euro. Also bought a tapestry of the Tree of Life that I've been lusting after every time the bus passes the little Indian man's storefront. Might go back for another design.

Basically, this place is incredible, and I'm loving it more every day. I still can't believe God put this in my path.

Oh yeah, and the ocean has been sporadically dumping itself onto us under the guise of "rain." I think Neptune/Poseidon is just messing with me. Bring it.