mardi 20.02.07 Mini-Mili
6,50. Whatever happened to our 5,00 rise? It’s almost 7,00 and I’m lying in bed thinking that the lads either forgot me or forgot to get up. A jingle tells me that they’re just on their way. I have five minutes to get dressed and pack my bag before Oliver, Lionel, Alex and I cram into the car and make our way along Route de la Trace to Morne Rouge. We make a shop stop before taking the final few windy miles to the outlook deck at the foothills of Montagne Pelée. We pass joggers and waterfalls before reaching the carpark where four other vehicles are shrouded by the morning fog.
8,35. The first half hour of the climb is hell. With each step I feel as if my lungs are about to explode. My abs are still a bit tender from the beach workout and now my limbs are starting to feel the strain too. If my little legs were even a fraction shorter I would actually have to scramble up the narrow wood and mud stairway. There’s plenty of time to scramble however as we soon reach the craggy rock face which we half hike and half scale until we reach the first lookout. We don’t hang around long as there’s nothing much to see for the fog and we want to get ahead of the fearless families and tired tourists who have dragged one another up the mountain this morning.
9,00. The next leg of the mountain is just as gruelling but by now I’ve gauged the pace and am sufficiently psyched up. Oliver takes the rear and Alex leads with Lionel and I in the middle. We mount a stone stairway and clamber up another rocky route until we finally find ourselves at a flatter but narrower bush path at L’Aileron (1,100m) the first apex.
9,15. There are some slow pokes lingering about and we pass them out as we turn left for a relatively easy incline towards the summit, Le Chinois (1,395m). We briefly pose for pictures at the peak before making our way back to the main path where we take the other turn towards the crater. Mud and rain accompany us and cool us down before we reach the mountainside hut where overnighters are playing dominos and hikers are taking a breather or a bar of chocolate.
9,30. We rest for a while and explore the goat-dung environs before setting off again up a steep path to another peak, Les Palmists. There are indeed tiny palm trees clinging on for dear life on this pinnacle. We consider descending into the crater and decide to face the fog and descend into the void.
9,45. The steps are so deep that I often have to slide down on my bum. Towards the base the steps disappear and rocks take over. The fog has lifted a bit by the time we reach the bottom and we can even see people a top the previous pinnacle we did. The hub of the crater is quiet a tranquil place with little palm trees and strange shrubs. However, we still have to get up the other side and so we set off once again.
10,10. As we clamber out of the crater more rain welcomes us. It’s welcomed by all. The rain and subdued sunlight have been quiet refreshing. Indeed if we were to have left any earlier we would have suffered in the daytime intensity. More pictures are taken. I have to get the scout neckerchief out for a picture.
10,15. Once again we descend into the crater. Its routes like this where you begin to wonder how you ever got up in the first place. My army mates are not the only military men taking to the mountain. We must have come across another sixty or so soldiers all together. They’re kitted out in the full uniform with their weapons and 30kg steadying them on the rickety rocks. Snap, snap goes my camera once more as I take pictures with the mountain military. Alex and Lionel skip on ahead as Oliver and I pose for more pictures as we move down the mountain. I’m surprised how many people are out tackling Pelée this morning. Some school kids are in high spirits even though their jeans are probably soaked through.
10,40. We pass the first peak once again and pick up speed as we end up running with the rain down the mountain. We have to slow down every now and again in order to avoid gathering too much momentum. The onslaught of ramblers assures this as we stand in to let them pass. So many tomato red and pink pig hues puff and pant by. I can’t talk as I’m as ruddy red as most of them.
11,00. Back at base. The sun finally cracks and the clouds diverge as Oliver and I join the others; my red face will tell you just how hot it got. But hey, red is the colour of the day as its Mardi Gras and everyone will be dressed in red for today’s Carnaval celebrations.
We change from our mangled muddy clothes before heading for the beach. We’ve only just settled on the sand when the heavens open again. We seek shelter in Saint Pierre. Lunch is in order. My poulet colombo fills the void but it’s nothing special. Alex gets fricassee du lambi and the other two finally opt for poulet boucanée. For once Lionel is hungry. Service is slow and Alex and he go for a smoke before it arrives. I may have huffed and puffed on my way up the mountain but these two were lost in the foggy fag fumes the whole morning. It’s amazing that they haven’t croaked by now. On our way back to the car a lady stops Lionel for a cigarette. He gives her one but he won’t take her money. I tell him he should have given her the packet.
We drive to the beach at Carbet. It’s full of rich tourists in their 4X4s; us four cruise around in our battered Peugeot 106. Oli and Lionel stick to the shade and nod off. Alex and I take a dip. There’s a floating island about 50 metres out which looks like a fun place to sunbathe. I’m not the best swimmer but the promise of a Pina Colada later on at the beach bar eggs me on. Alex and I are soon sunning ourselves and helping kids to climb on board. When we return to the others Oliver is out for the count so we leave him to snooze and make our way to the shade of the beach bar canopy to chat about silly parachutists and the French Foreign Legion.
Nicola has been swotting all day for her interview on Thursday. When we return she takes a breather. The guys check her work and we rustle up some Irish tea. Just for pure divilment we decide to add some bwa bandé. The guys either really love the tea or are addicted to whatever has been added as they have a few cups each.
They leave and when they return a few hours later with Sebastian. It’s his first time at the ROWANTREE residence so we make a fuss of him. Oliver is wrecked and has decided not to go out tonight. Where will we go? First off we got to Karaoke Café. Michel and Celine from the Mayflower join us before we head off to try Coconuts. Unfortunately it’s jam-packed. We’re not having much luck tonight as Tropicana is also full. Michel thought he would try throwing his weight around as he knows most of the DJs but when there’s no room at the inn it’s hard to get in.
Nicola’s not feeling on form so we drop her home before tying out the very last place – Waikiki. Michel is there and thankfully the Mafia aren’t so we have as good a time as we can in this tin-can surfers shack. Zouk is the music of the night. There are plenty of movers and shakers on the tiny dance floor but there’s room for some more – Michel stays at the bar eating Pringles and trying the owner’s jelly-shot concoctions.
Alex and Celine stick to the dance floor and Seb chats with Michel while Lionel and I debate the state of all things. La fatigue est un état d’esprit. So is la folie. Or perhaps that’s a cultural or even tribal thing. Lionel lives in a tribe in Tahiti. Of course modern influences have now been integrated into the tribes’ people’s lives but they are still governed by tribal rituals and laws. He tells me of the pains he went to to get a tattoo; 6 hours in a plane to a neighbouring island just to make sure he got it done by one of his relations. It’s a sting-ray on his right shoulder-blade encircled with a Spanish phrase which reminds him that life is hard. Alex also has a sting-ray tattoo although it takes up most of his back and you can see dolphins and a turtle in it too. I also have a pattern on my back but it’s due to the sun and my sporty swimsuit I was wearing earlier. I now have a lovely Y and three circles to show off next time I hit the beach.
La fatigue may be un état d’esprit but I am tired. The others are content to stay and encourage me to hang around a bit. Lionel soon starts to hit the wall too. He eventually drops me home after trying to take a short-cut. He’s crazy. And a bit mad but who isn’t?!
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