West of the Mascarenes

The night was surprisingly good near our little kiosk. So much so that the tent dried out, unlike our clothes soaked by yesterday’s rain. We’re in high spirits, with only a few kilometers left to descend before the end of this GR. After a quick breakfast, we’re already on the road, chatting eagerly. About an hour and a half later, we meet the sea again, this time on the south coast.

The morning is quite fresh, and even sheltered in our guesthouse, we feel the cold of the “highlands.” Nevertheless, the weather is radiant, our laundry is clean and dry, we’re full of energy to hit the road again. The crossing of the village strikes me; I feel like I’m in the Aubrac. Small houses, smell of wood fire, frosty pastures.

The night spent at our bivouac spot turned out to be very pleasant, and William and I wake up feeling good. We have breakfast with our friends and take the time to make coffee. Today, the goal is indeed not to finish the stage too early. We plan to climb the Piton des Neiges and arriving early would mean enduring intense cold for too long.

Our day starts with a small pleasure: local bananas offered by the owner of the campsite where we’re sleeping, who gives them to us to accompany our everlasting oatmeal with milk. The descent toward the gorges is, as always, brutal, with large stone steps to step over; then we do it all over again in reverse on the other side.

Around 2am, a rain that starts light then becomes intense wakes us up. We had hoped to get up at 6am, but faced with so much water, we postpone until 7am. The calculation proves unwise; it’s still raining just as hard. We meet hikers we’d seen the day before in the common room. Everyone is waiting for the fog to clear to climb up to Roche Écrite and see the panorama. We run out of patience, walk for 30 minutes in the rain, soak our shoes, then turn back: we won’t see anything.