American Girls in Reunion Island

Taylor and Bri arrived Tuesday morning at 11:00. I was like a little kid at Christmas, I couldn't even sleep the night before and I started running around at seven, making sure everything was ready. For the last month, Richard and I (and even his parents) had planned every detail of their visit, debating over which hike to do, what waterfall to see, and what weird things were absolutely necessary to taste. One week isn't too long when it comes to experiencing all that La Reunion has to show...and two of those days were already devoted to wedding celebrations.

They had spent a few days in Paris, so the jet lag wasn't too bad, but we decided to take it slow anyway. After getting settled in the apartment, we went straight to the beach at L'hermitage, well known for it's lagoon of coral and billions of fish. 

Richard, who had to work a little bit, came to join us with cheese, bread, wine, and smoked sausages for the sunset a few hours later. He was followed by his sister Aurelie, her husband and kids, and a few friends. We lit candles in little plastic cups and drank lots and lots of wine under the stars. Everything was going great--the French girls were trying their best to speak English and the American girls were trying their best to speak French. 

Then, rather abruptly, Aurelie and her friends got up to leave and there was a rumor circulating after that she was offended by my friends. This turned out to be untrue (or a drunken miscommunication) but it definitely stressed me out for the rest of the week, because she didn't answer her phone again until 11pm the night before the wedding.

But the adventure continued, and the next morning we woke up bright and early for an 8:00am dive at Cap La Houssaye. My normal dive guy, Wulfy was away on an advanced diving trip, so he referred us to his friend Gregory. It was Taylor's first time and as Gregory didn't speak any English, I got to play the part of translator, which I actually enjoyed immensely! The visibility was not great but at least a couple turtles came out to swim with us near the end. 

Richard in the middle of nowhere.

Taylor and Gregory in an awkward underwater moment.

Bri and her turtle friend

After that, we headed to the Comorant Basin a few minutes from the apartment for a picnic under the waterfalls. 

yellow watermelon!

On the way back to the car we caught sight of a cute little chameleon couple in the woods. This seemed to be the highlight of Taylor and Bri's life ;-)

For dinner we headed straight to Richard's parent's house in Le Tampon. They always have weird stuff to eat there. So the girls were introduced to such delicacies as wasp larva, blood sausage, passion fruit, and dragon fruit. Richard's mom invited over the Priest from her church, who is from Madagascar. He seemed thrilled to be in a room with so many Americans, and had great stories to tell about the Americans he met from the Peace Corps in Madagascar. He told us his first impression of Americans was that they were so adaptable and eager to learn other cultures...something he felt my friends were also demonstrating by eating wasp larva (also a first for him!!) I got to play translator again, and the dinner went flawlessly--full of laughter and picture taking.

wasp larva

First Bites...

Taylor had seconds! Bri was not a fan. Although she did keep trying the blood sausage...

They did a lot better than I did at first...I could never choke down this much wasp before they came here!

Passion Fruit! Miam miam

So then the next day, there's the hike...

Richard told me when we started deciding where to take our little tourists, that we absolutely have to go up in the mountains, since that is a big part of what Reunion is famous for. I agreed, but told him we should be doing a nice walk--not a deadly rock climbing hike like everyone else is used to here. He chose Mafate, and told me it was the (and I quote) "EASIEST HIKE IN REUNION." He also told me it would take about an hour and a half in the car to get to the beginning of a hike. Both of these statements are false. I kept asking him to take me on a test run of this hike all month, just to be sure my friends would like it, but something always came up. He assured me it was easy and quick and beautiful. Later, when I heard him retelling the story, he said "I've learned that when you tell Americans something, it has to be EXACTLY that thing, and nothing else!" Perhaps he was referring to the fact that his "hour and a half" road trip turned into FIVE HOURS up a winding, bumpy mountain with two severely car-sick girls in the back seat. (Granted, we did stop for lunch in the middle of that...) Or maybe that the "easiest hike in Reunion" was a steep downhill slope for two hours, making my friends completely pissed and completely against climbing back up the mountain the next morning...

At least it was pretty. And thank GOD we had good weather...

Richard told us the waterfall behind us is called "The Bride's Veil"

Reunion Island Adventures...

my handsome French cowboy!!!

When we finally arrived at the cabins in Mafate, the three of us were secretly fighting back tears--theirs from complete miserableness, and mine from the guilt of making my friends completely miserable--but we showered, got dressed, and cooled off. After a few sips of rum we were even laughing about it...but that did not change the fact that no one was looking forward to walking up the mountain together tomorrow morning.

As in traditional French cabin fashion, we ate very very well and bonded with all the other couples/families staying in the cabin for the night. After a few glasses of wine, we were all laughing together and sharing stories of the hike. Some of the other hikers spoke English and Bri was retelling the horrors of the last few hours. Somehow it was mentioned that there was a helicopter that flies in and out of Mafate every day. That's when Bri decided we would be on that helicopter tomorrow. She made friends with Davy, the 20 year old Mafatian running the cabin, whose cousin was the pilot. He told us that it was possible we could get a ride up the mountain in the morning, but he couldn't call until tomorrow at breakfast. 

Dinner was over, and Taylor went to bed while Bri, Richard and I went to the "after party" across the field in Davy's house (I think. The rest of the night is kind of a hazy memory...) I just remember the AMAZING view of the stars from up there, the chilly air, and running through the field laughing. At one point, we heard a strange chirping in the darkness that was getting closer and closer until a little mouse scampered across our flashlight stream, making Bri and I scream bloody murder while everyone else erupted in laughter. Later we found ourselves singing "Cotton Eye Joe" and square dancing with each other in the dark. The Creole guys did not know the words to Cotton Eye Joe, but they made a hilarious effort. Bri found a stray dog and tried to sneak it into her bed. That was followed by the night's finale: Davy and his friends playing with pieces of fire that wouldn't burn their hands. Thoroughly freaked out, we ran back to our bunkbeds, telling ourselves to remember this night forever. 

The next morning, Bri's first words were "helicopter?" I guess Richard thought she wasn't serious, but now it was clear. We went down to breakfast and Davy called his cousin. No answer. We ate, and he called again. No answer. We went to the cabin to bring Bri the bad news, and gloomily, we all started to prepare for the hike. Then Davy came to the window. "Are you sure? It's 250 euro for the four of you. He's just dropping you off, no tours." Bri was so happy she almost exploded. After some debate between us, we decided we would all be much happier if we took the helicopter.

Davy informed us that we'd have to wait for two hours. We sighed, but agreed it was for the best. We continued packing. Suddenly Davy reappeared in the window. "They are coming right now! Are you ready? You have five minutes!!!!" We're instantly moving in fast forward. We're out the door with panties and someone's shoe in our hands. Running, running, running past the other hikers who laugh and wave goodbye. Running past Davy and the dog Bri tried to steal last night. Running to the sound of helicopter blades cutting through frosty early-morning mountain air. It happened so quickly, they're shoving our bags in the side thing and pushing us inside. They're taking the money and suddenly we're in the air. They do this sudden dive-bomb move and we all scream--they're laughing and promise not to do it again. It's beautiful. The view is incredible. We pass the mountains, the waterfalls, we fly over the village with our hearts pounding in unison.

Then, we're landing...the pilots are motioning for the hikers to move so they can land. The hikers don't understand, they just stare with their mouths open and then it dawns on them, that a helicopter is going to land on them, and they run. We fall out of the helicopter and the beating blades are right over our heads. We're laughing and running away, like it's a dream and it didn't actually happen. 

After that little excursion, it was time to chill out and get ready for the wedding. When we finally got home, I sent the girls to the beach, and Richard and I went to the hotel where we were having the wedding reception the next day to decorate. His parents were on their way along with some of their friends. Everyone was stressed and nervous. I kept sneaking back to the apartment with Bri and Taylor for various "reasons" so we could escape the madness. We had a lot of rum.

At one point, after dark, I walked over to the beach by myself to steal some sand for the decorations. I took advantage of my first few minutes alone since I can even remember and I sat under the stars, listening to the waves. I wasn't particularly nervous or anxious or anything really...just kind of there. I prayed that this would work, that we would have a happy life and a solid marriage. That this would be the start of something new, something better than I could have ever imagined...

I can't imagine what this wedding would have been like if Taylor and Bri hadn't been there. Not only were they there to help me stay balanced the next morning when our apartment became pure chaos, but they were my photographers, my bridesmaids, my official witnesses, my stand-in parents, and everything else they could have possibly been. Mostly, they gave me the confidence to be myself...to laugh and make jokes and be silly and do all of the things that shy French Jen hasn't really done yet. Everything was completely different because they were there, standing beside me. 

Arthur and Charlotte LOVED the American girls...I'm not sure the feeling was mutual after a few hours haha.

 For their last day in La Reunion, we beach hopped--from Boucan and back to feed the fish at L'Hermitage.

The current was strong...we had to use each other to push away from the coral!

me, Bri, Taylor <3

Bri saying goodbye to her fishies

So, in conclusion: It was awesome. I didn't want them to ever leave. And also, everyone should come visit me now. Bri and Taylor were good guinea pigs. I promise I will never take Americans on crazy hikes in the mountains ever again!! (Unless it's via helicopter...)

The Circle of Life.

It happened in slow motion.

We were in the process of getting off our plane after a wonderful week in Paris. Richard was behind me, calling his dad who was coming to pick us up. Suddenly, I heard him either hysterically laughing or hysterically crying...I didn't know which, so I turned around to see. He staggered back into a line of empty seats, and the other passengers stared in horror. "Ma grand-mere est morte," he choked out. Grandma died.

We stopped by the apartment for a quick shower and then raced to the south for the funeral. Mémé (pronounced may-may, the nickname for Grandma,) had done a good job of preparing her family for goodbye...in February, we found out she was in the hospital because she simply refused to eat anymore. In my experience, once you're in the hospital nearing the end of your life, you don't come back out. But Mémé did. Everyone convinced her to stick around a little longer, and so she figured, why not?

Richard and I visited her just after she came back from the hospital, happy that it wasn't over yet. She was very sick, very thin, and just slept in bed all day. There were probably 20 family members there in that tiny room with her, non-stop. Everyone had tears in their eyes. Everyone was begging her to eat, but we all knew she didn't really want to be here anymore. When Richard and I walked in to kiss her, he asked if she remembered me. She didn't answer. Richard said "this is my girlfriend, you've met her before." And Mémé said, "she's so pretty!" Everyone in the room laughed, tears sticking in their eyes. It was the first thing she had said in a while.

We came back almost every weekend after that. At the beginning, I thought any day would be the last. But weeks went on. Sometimes Richard would go alone for an hour, and come back to proudly report that he got her to eat some yogurt. On Easter, Richard's aunt dressed Mémé up in a dress she made herself years ago. We brought her a little chocolate Easter egg and she ate it with us. She didn't speak...but she listened. Richard told her we were going to be married soon. She immediately looked him straight in the eyes. She spoke no words, but that look was something I will never forget. It was happiness and hope and maybe a little relief. Then she looked at me. Her face was skeletal and her lips didn't move, but somehow I knew she was smiling at me. He told her we wanted her to be there, but it was too far away for her to travel, so we would come by after to take pictures with her. She nodded. That was the last time I saw her.

Mémé passed away at night, while we were in the air. As with tradition here, the family stayed up all night with the body, in that very room of her house, praying and singing and lighting candles. We arrived the next day at 3:00. The tiny Creole house was filled with maybe 60 people, waiting to file into her tiny room to kiss her goodbye. I followed Richard and his parents to the front of the room. It was dark, lit only with candles. They had fabricated some kind of alter around where she was lying. There were burgundy velvet drapes at the front near her head, dotted with silver crosses. Hundreds and hundreds of flowers filled the room. Pépé (pay-pay, Grandpa) was seated next to her, and he was constantly stroking her hair, as if she were just dozing off to sleep. Three women stood next to Pépé, chanting Bible verses and singing hymns in French. The only thing I could make out was "N'aie pas peur de l'amour." Don't be afraid of love. They kept repeating this phase in every song. Pépé's face was dancing with the candle light and the tears in his eyes didn't fall until Richard threw himself on Mémé, sobbing. He hugged and kissed her body, and then stepped back. We stayed there for a few more minutes, listening to the hymns and chants, and then we left in order to make room for the others.

After maybe an hour more, it was time to go to the church. We all filed through the room again. This time, as everyone passed to kiss her one last time, we threw flowers into the casket. Richard and I took his two year old niece with us, who kept telling everyone that Mémé was in the sky with Jesus. She threw her flowers to Mémé and kissed her forehead. After Mémé was covered in flowers, they closed the casket, and some men carried her into the funeral car. Everyone helped load all of the flowers in with her. The smaller bouquets we carried, and everyone walked together, like in a parade, for the 15 minutes to the church, in front of the funeral car. It was cold and cloudy, and the women continued to chant and sing their Bible verses.

As we marched, people, cars, workers--everyone--would stop to watch us pass by, respectfully bowing their heads. You could see it in the eyes of these complete strangers; they felt what we felt, they have stood where we were standing, and they sent us their sympathy.

The funeral service was traditional, and I was thankful that I could stop listening any time I wanted to. I watched a little girl at the end of the pew across from me. She was maybe 9 years old, with big curly black hair and she wore a white dress with flowers. She had her head bent down and was swinging her legs back and forth gently, as they could not yet touch the ground. And she was trying desperately hard not to cry. She would close her eyes for a few seconds, and then reopen them and blink back the fresh tears. Then she would close them again, hoping that this time, she could keep the tears inside. She did a much better job than I did at nine years old.

Richard's niece and nephew were not as quiet...they were running all around the church, asking everyone where Mémé was, if they could kiss her again, and why everyone was so sad.

After church we drove up the hill to the cemetery  where three men lowered the casket into the ground, and everyone threw flowers in after. Then we all watched as the men refilled the hole, and the family placed all of the remaining bouquets onto the soil.

"I really wanted her to come to the wedding," Richard said later that night.
"She'll be much more able to come now that she's free from her broken body. If she had stayed, she would have been lying miserably in bed anyway. Now she can actually be with us!" I replied, but I'm not sure he was really comforted by that thought. So I went on:
"Maybe my mom found her in heaven and now they are friends. And Mémé can tell her that we're ok here, that we're gonna be ok..."
"But maybe they won't understand each other. Mémé doesn't know how to speak English," he said with a shaky voice.
"It's ok," I answered. "Because in heaven, everyone can speak every language."

We both kind of liked that idea, so we light a candle for Mémé and went to bed.

Rest in peace, little Mémé. You were well loved and will be well missed.

Easter Weekend

I never really wondered about the Easter Bunny and why he brings little children eggs, or how he might go about obtaining eggs in the first place. But this Easter weekend, I again found myself at the dinner table, answering questions about random stuff that Americans believe. 

When you stop to think about it, this tradition is kind of terrifying.

According to my research, eggs and hares are a symbol of fertility, adding to the theme of Spring, blooming flowers, and new life. Also, in ancient times, hares were thought to be hermaphrodites, meaning they could reproduce without a loss of virginity and were therefore associated with the Virgin Mary. The whole thing about the bunny bringing candy to good children originated in Germany because apparently they needed something halfway through the year to keep their children in line.

"That's so weird and not very logical!" Say my French people.

What is logical to French people? 

Bells with wings that fly through the night.

For a few days before Easter, Church bells in France are silent to mourn Jesus. This was not an exciting enough reason for the bells to be silent, so someone fabricated a story about the bells leaving their steeples to go to Rome (explaining their silence) (also an excellent choice for a quick weekend getaway) and then they return on Easter, bringing chocolates and colored eggs.

Saturday night mass at the church in Le Tampon where Richard's mom sings in the choir.

Easter weekend with my Catholic in-laws includes spending 3 hours in mass Saturday night, (with a Pastor from Madagascar whose accent I did not understand) then eating fois gras and home-made mango chutney for dinner. On Sunday, they spent the entire morning cooking a feast for lunch (grilled lobster and cari chicken) while we headed out to the only two things open on Easter Sunday: the SPCA to see the puppies, and the Brocante, which is the town's monthly garage sale/market.

As a dog person, I need a dog in my life to survive. Since my dog is on the other side of the world, and us getting a new puppy is a stupid idea in an apartment, I have to get my puppy fix by making Richard take me to the SPCA as often as possible. Reunion has a major problem with stray cats and dogs (It seems to me that no one cared about the strays around the island for a LONG time... until the population of ugly, diseased cats and dogs started to become ridiculous...)

A very common scene at restaurant patios...poor puppy

However, cuddling with insane amounts of sad, cute puppies still could not fill the Charlie-shaped hole in my heart!!

To get to the SPCA, you have to go down "prostitute lane," which is just a road in the middle of tall sugar cane fields where tons of girls hang out all day on fold-out chairs waiting for customers. We passed a cop car on the way back though, so I think for those girls it turned out to be a pretty crappy day at work. 

In Reunion, if you have a bunch of old stuff to sell, you don't have a garage sale, because odds are you don't have a garage. Instead, on the last Sunday of the month, everybody who has stuff to sell goes into a giant parking lot and displays their items neatly on blankets. Or creepily in the backs of their beaten-down white vans.

I went with high hopes of finding some unique art, cool frames, or other deco stuff for the apartment but instead we walked out with some 5-for-1euro DVDs and books. Oh well.

After that we came home for the feast and spent the next few hours around the table eating, drinking and talking about life. 

We didn't see Richard's sister and her family because they were doing stuff with the kids all day...so we were slightly surprised when she called us up at 8pm after we were already back in St. Gilles. Her and her husband and a couple of their friends were itching to go out, so she was dropping off the kids and they would be at our apartment in an hour. This is something that they never do, so as you might imagine, we all drank a few too many whisky and cokes in the apartment and then decided to go across the street to the nightclubs. We danced for hours, drank lots of rum and a little tequila, ran around on the beach and stole beautiful smelling flowers from trees. I think it was an appropriate way to end the celebrations of Zombie Jesus Day.