Trip 43 — Réunion Walk
Day 2: Bras-Panon to Piton Sainte-Rose
Wednesday, 30 October 2024
Today: 36801 steps/29.82 km/18.53 mi/5h 26m
Total: 68330 steps/56.29 km/34.98 mi/9h 57m
"Looking for a nice place to eat in the evening: the ANNIBAL farm inn, however you absolutely need to book."
Such was the advice of the Villa Mary Guest House in Saint-André, where I'd planned my first night on Réunion.
It was such good advice that, having reserved my dinner, I found another place to stay. The problem was that Villa Mary was 6.7 kilometers back toward the airport (along that narrow stretch from yesterday), and I didn't want to backtrack. It made more sense to stay in Bras-Panon, near the restaurant and farther along the coast.
So I apologized to Villa Mary and rebooked at Le Médinilla.
Dinner was supposed to start at seven; I arrived five minutes before. The door to the white house was open but there were no other diners, just a long setup of 18 place settings and 19 bottles of rum and rum punch, all different flavors. The bright lighting and the banners ("Ici c'est Paris," "Lyonnais") brought to mind a senior bingo hall rather than a refined dining experience.
There was someone in the kitchen counting papers. Had she seen me? Did I want her to? Maybe I was wrong to be five minutes early.
There were baguettes near the kitchen entrance. That was a good sign.
The top of the hour passed. Still no sign of anyone else. I went outside and then back in. Yes, this had to be the right place.
I got the woman's attention. Google Translate and a handwritten reservation list confirmed that I was where I was supposed to be and that more people were coming.
"Sit anywhere," she said.
I picked the third seat from the end against the wall, next to a bottle of bitter-orange rum punch. I tried it and waited for something else to happen.
The others came in starting at 7:24: a dozen new guests in various parties. A couple from the Netherlands sat next to me — we had English and a poor command of French in common — and a French couple sat on the end. The Dutch pair had been in Réunion for a wedding; the French pair had a place on the island, where his daughter and son-in-law lived due to the son-in-law's work placement.
The woman from the kitchen was the octogenarian Eva, our chef. The first course was chouchou (chayote) au gratin, like a soft bean casserole. One party received a taro (dreamwood, "le bois de songe" in French) starter of the same consistency. The main course was white beans and rice, swordfish curry, and Eva's specialty: vanilla duck. And the meal was shortly thereafter rendered closer to perfect by the third offering: air conditioning.
Various desserts were available, and I chose the potato cake with a guava coulis. The cake was just barely sweet, a good balance for the sauce. And for the geranium-infused rum.
The weather kept me guessing and hoping. When I went to bed, today's forecast had rain by the late morning, demanding that I complete 30 kilometers by noon if I didn't want to be soaked. But I woke up to the pit-a-pat on the roof, and nature had helped me by finishing its release before breakfast. By the time I tried Le Médinilla's homemade tomato jam — and learned that I was the owner's third American guest in 25 years — it was a lovely overcast walking day.
Through Bras-Panon on the sidewalk, and then it ended. But after crossing the Rivière des Roches I started along a tranquil coastal path. The water was blue-green and the trees sometimes formed a perfectly rounded canopy. The area was abundant with pimpin or pinpin, a fruit shaped like a small pineapple but more spherical. It takes some digging to get to the edible part, which is similar to a palm heart.
I climbed up to Saint-Benoit — it was around here that I ran into the French couple from Eva's place — and then back down to continue until Beaufond. The path abruptly ended here and dumped me in the middle of a sugar plantation. Between me and the main road were dozens of stopped trucks laden with stalks. This left just one lane open for traffic, with someone directing the flow. I walked in the middle, enjoying the wine-like aroma of the plant cuttings.
A sidewalk came and went. When it was missing, I was grateful for the slow trucks curbing drivers' speed. To my left were rocky beaches; to my right, the clouds were thick above Réunion's peaks. Thankfully the sky didn't open up above me.
As I approached Sainte-Anne, a dog on the sidewalk startled me with a vigorous bark. It backed away but kept its eyes on me, still barking. I crossed the street and the dog ran into the yard of a pizza restaurant.
Maybe I'd misunderstood and the dog was showing me where to eat. I didn't want to miss lunch again. In Sainte-Anne, I had a look at the tall, ornate, skinny church and discovered that all the restaurants were closed except for a patisserie, and I wanted something more substantial.
Across the Ravine du Petit Saint-Pierre, the road started to climb. In the town of Les Orangers, a couple of eateries were signed, but there was no trace of business. I should have listened to the dog.
I came down to the suspension bridge over the Rivière de l'Est. The next food possibility was a little place about a kilometer past the bridge, but it was now almost 2:00 and I doubted it would be serving.
On the other hand, there was a black dog outside. It regarded me nonchalantly and, perhaps, nodded in the direction of the restaurant's door.
It was open. A chalkboard gave the menu as a noncommittal "Plats de 15 à 34 €." All I was offered was chicken curry. It turned out to be an expensive €25, but it was tasty and plentiful and I couldn't complain about being fed.
Eight kilometers later, I reached LaKour Fleurie. No one was there, but I had instructions to take the Lana room. When Jerome arrived, he brought out his homemade rums — one infused with sugarcane and cinnamon, the other with Victoria pineapple and honey — and we chatted.
He told me about the Grand Raid, aptly also called the "diagonale des fous" or "diagonal of the crazy people": an annual 100-mile race across Réunion, including some of its steepest slopes. The event is multinational and winners typically finish in just under 24 hours; Ben Dhiman from Cincinnati came in third place two weeks ago. Jerome did it once, completing it in 30 hours and coming in 70th out of about 300.
He also talked about Réunion's history. The island had no native population when the Portuguese found it in the 1600s. Everyone on Réunion has ancestors from somewhere else, whether they came here willingly or forcibly.
"We mustn't let our past bother us," he said of the legacy of slavery. "We must all come together. Chinese, African, French, Indian..." — he pointed to himself — "we all get along here. We are all the same. We fight each other, we love each other, we talk to each other." In other French departments, such as Martinique and Guadelupe, he said, the racial divide prevails. Not so in Réunion.
"Our country is...'our' country. We welcome everyone."
"And there's room?" I asked.
"Yes." Imagine: This island of less than a thousand square miles welcomes everyone. And with all our space in the USA, so many people want to keep others out.
And Jerome is as nervous about next week's election as so many Americans are.
It was after seven, and I was afraid of not getting dinner. There were a few places on the map strung out along the N2 in Piton Sainte-Rose: all closed. Another place a few minutes farther: the same. The next possibility was down a few more dark bends. Did I want to chance it, or would my dinner consist of two hard candies that had been brought with the checks in Mauritius? I ran ahead, my phone's flashlight on, startling the fenced-in dogs. The approach to the restaurant didn't seem promising, but then I looked down the path and saw people inside.
Despite the name, Le Poisson Rouge served mostly meat. I celebrated the place's existence with a Dodo beer and then had a starter of fried shrimp followed by duck cooked in wine. A child ran around happily screaming, and somehow that made me happier to be there. There's room for everyone.
Go on to day 3
