The morning began earlier than I had expected. The sun had barely stretched across Saint-Pierre when I went downstairs for breakfast. Jean-Yves had prepared a small local buffet: fresh fruit, croissants, pain au chocolat, and strong coffee that smelled like comfort. It was the perfect way to start a long day.
At 7:30 a.m., a woman with bright eyes and a warm smile pulled up in a white van. Her name was Carole, from Vanilla Excursion. She greeted us cheerfully, « Bonjour ! Prêtes pour l’aventure ? » and just like that, the second chapter of my island story began.
As we left Saint-Pierre, the town slowly disappeared behind us and the road curled into green hills. For the first time, I saw the island in its true form, wild, generous, and endlessly beautiful. Mountains rose on one side, ravines on the other, and everything shimmered in shades of emerald. I remember thinking how much respect the locals had for nature here. Nothing felt forced or artificial. It was all so alive.
Carole was a wonderful storyteller. As she drove, she pointed at every bend and village, telling us, « Ici, c’est l’endroit où la terre a dansé avec le feu. » She spoke of how Réunion’s mountains were born from volcanoes, of how the Creole culture carried traces of Africa, India, Europe, and Asia all at once. Her voice made the island come alive in the rhythm of her words.
As we made our way up toward the volcano, Carole stopped at several viewpoints along the road. One of the first was Belvédère de Bois Court, overlooking the deep green canyon of Grand Bassin. Standing on the wooden platform, I remember leaning slightly forward, trying to take in the sheer depth of the landscape below. The clouds moved slowly across the mountains, and everything felt vast and quiet at the same time.
A little further along, we stopped again at Nez de Bœuf, where the view opened dramatically over the Rivière des Remparts. The canyon stretched endlessly, carved deep into the earth, and I remember feeling small in the best possible way. These early stops set the tone for the day, reminding me just how powerful and alive this island is.
I hadn’t brought a pullover, so Carole, with her endless kindness, lent me one of hers. I still remember how soft it felt, and how small gestures like that can stay with you forever.
We continued to climb higher, stopping at different viewpoints. The higher we went, the more the world changed. The greens turned to browns, the air thinned, and the scent of earth grew stronger. Then, suddenly, the landscape opened into a vast red plain — Plaine des Sables. It looked like another planet. The road stretched endlessly ahead, winding through volcanic dust, and for a moment, I forgot I was on an island at all.
Carole parked the van and said, « On fait une petite pause ? » She brewed hot tea right there and offered us slices of homemade cake she had baked the night before. Steam rose from our cups as the wind brushed against our faces. I remember thinking how surreal it felt drinking tea in the middle of a volcanic desert.
Piton de la Fournaise, one of the most active volcanoes in the world, rises over 2,600 meters above sea level. It last erupted just months before my visit, painting parts of the island with cooled rivers of lava. Yet the people of Réunion speak of it with affection, calling it “le géant bienveillant”, the gentle giant. Watching the horizon from Plaine des Sables, I understood why. Its silence felt powerful, almost sacred.
Our next stop was Crater Commerson, a deep, dramatic crater carved by eruptions long ago. The wind there was fierce, carrying the scent of minerals and ash. Standing at the edge, I looked down into a world of red and black stone, mist swirling over its depths. It was both frightening and beautiful, like standing at the edge of time itself.
As we continued our journey, the landscape softened and turned greener as we passed through Plaine-des-Palmistes. The air felt cooler there, almost refreshing, and the surroundings were lush and calm. It felt like a pause before the raw, volcanic scenery that awaited us higher up. I remember noticing how different the island felt from one area to another, as if Réunion was quietly revealing its many faces along the way.
While passing through Plaine-des-Palmistes, we stopped at Domaine des Tourelles, a local distillery surrounded by greenery. The atmosphere there felt calm and rooted in tradition. It was a gentle pause in the day, offering a glimpse into Réunion’s heritage before we continued our ascent toward the volcanic landscapes. Walking around the estate, I remember appreciating the contrast once again; how this island moves effortlessly between culture and raw nature.
In April 1977, Piton de la Fournaise erupted violently. Lava flowed through the village of Sainte-Rose, destroying homes and cutting off roads. When the lava reached the small church, Notre-Dame-des-Laves, it slowed, split, and stopped just meters away from the building.
Since then, the church has stood as:
A symbol of faith for locals
A reminder of nature’s power
A place of quiet reflection, regardless of religion
Carole explained its history to us; how, during the 1977 eruption of Piton de la Fournaise, lava flowed through the village and stopped just meters away from the church, leaving it untouched.
We went inside quietly and lit a candle. The church was simple, calm, and filled with a deep sense of stillness. We sat there for a few minutes without speaking. In that moment, I felt an unexpected peace, as if time had slowed down just enough for me to breathe and be fully present. It didn’t feel like a tourist stop. It felt personal.
After leaving the church, we continued along the Route des Laves, the road shaped and reshaped by past eruptions. Seeing the hardened lava up close, knowing it had once been flowing and unstoppable, was humbling. Touching the cooled rock, I realized how recent and real the volcano’s presence is on this island. It was only after that moment that we truly headed toward the higher volcanic plains.
That was also when I realized I had made a mistake; I was wearing my Ipanema sandals instead of sneakers. I laughed at myself as I tried to balance over the uneven lava, but somehow it made the memory even better.
We reached the hotel around six in the evening. My legs ached, my hair smelled faintly of smoke and sea, and my heart felt full. Dinner was quiet that night. The restaurant lights glowed softly, and the air was heavy with fatigue; the good kind, the one that comes from living deeply.
It amazed me how a single day could hold so much: fear, wonder, laughter, awe.
That night, I fell asleep feeling like I had lived an entire lifetime in just a few hours.
