Réunion Island is shaped by three vast natural amphitheatres, known as les trois cirques: Cilaos, Mafate, and Salazie, carved over centuries by the collapse and erosion of ancient volcanoes. Each cirque has its own personality, its own rhythm of life, and together they form the soul of the island.
Cilaos is perhaps the most accessible of the three, a mountain village tucked deep within a caldera, famous for its winding roads, more than 400 turns, and its breathtaking views. To reach Cilaos, you travel inland from Saint-Louis along the legendary Route aux 400 virages (the Road of 400 Bends). It’s a drive that tests your nerves but rewards you with vineyards, waterfalls, and an atmosphere of peaceful isolation.
Mafate is the wild heart of Réunion. There are no roads leading into it; only footpaths or helicopter access. It’s a world apart, reachable by hiking trails that cut through rugged cliffs and rivers. Tiny villages are scattered inside, sustained by solar energy and small guesthouses. Visiting Mafate means stepping into a different time, one where silence, mountains, and simplicity rule.
Salazie, the greenest and most humid of the three, lies to the northeast. It’s known for its countless waterfalls and lush vegetation. The road to Salazie passes through the town of Saint-André and winds into a world where everything glows in shades of green. Here, Creole houses with colourful shutters peek from behind ferns and banana trees. It’s a place that feels endlessly alive.
The morning began early again, 7:30 a.m., the island still waking, the air soft and cool. I had promised myself, long before setting foot here, that I wouldn’t leave without seeing the Cirques, especially Cilaos. I had looked at photos before the trip, mesmerised by its beauty, and now I wanted to stand there, to see it with my own eyes.
Carole, our kind guide from the day before, was waiting in her van, smiling as always. This time, I had learned my lesson, sneakers on. She greeted us with her usual warmth, « Prêtes pour un autre tour ? » and we set off.
The drive was long but hypnotic. The road coiled through mountains like a ribbon, slipping into tunnels that opened suddenly into valleys flooded with light. The scenery changed every few minutes: dense forests, sudden drops, walls of green. Carole had warned us about the famous 400 bends. She handed out water bottles and chewing gum, laughing softly, « C’est la route des courageuses! »
I told her that in Mauritius, we have the 52 virages that lead to Chamarel, but here, four hundred bends were on another level entirely. She laughed and said, « Ici, on en perd le compte! »
The air grew cooler as we climbed. From time to time, she stopped the van so we could breathe in the mountain air and stretch our legs. The conversations with her felt easy and comforting; she shared stories of the island, its legends, and the quiet rhythms of life.
When we finally reached Cilaos, it was even more beautiful than I had imagined. The mountains circled us like protective giants, the sky impossibly blue. The small lake shimmered in the sun, boats drifting gently on its surface. Everything felt still, suspended. I walked slowly, trying to absorb every shade of green, every shape of the peaks surrounding us. It felt like stepping inside a dream I had seen before.
Later, we drove toward Salazie, and I remember the road filling with mist and the smell of wet leaves. We climbed a short set of stairs to a viewpoint overlooking a waterfall that roared down from the cliffs; it must have been Cascade du Voile de la Mariée. The sound of the water was thunderous yet calming, echoing against the rocks. Carole, ever thoughtful, unpacked sandwiches and a thermos of tea. We sat on a stone wall, legs dangling, watching the water glisten in the sunlight.
The tour was meant to end by mid-afternoon, but Carole, in her generosity, offered to continue. « On y va encore un peu ? » she said, smiling. We didn’t hesitate.
She took us along the coastal roads, showing us small fishing villages and viewpoints I wouldn’t have found on my own. At one stop, near Saint-Denis beach, she told us how swimming there was dangerous because of sharks. I watched the waves break, powerful and beautiful, thinking how every paradise carries its own mysteries.
Something I kept noticing and saying was how courteous the drivers were. No honking, no rush, everyone letting each other pass. It was the first time I had seen such patient driving, and I understood what Carole meant when she said life here was peaceful. « Ici, pas de stress », she told us. « Beaucoup de Parisiens viennent s’installer, ils veulent une vie tranquille. »
By the time we returned to Saint-Pierre, the sun was setting over the ocean. We thanked Carole sincerely, promising to keep in touch. I was exhausted, but in that quiet, fulfilling way that only travel gives when your heart has seen too much beauty for one day.
That night, as I sat on the balcony of the hotel, I realised that the island was slowly revealing itself to me layer by layer, mountain by mountain, smile by smile.
Tip: Start early; the roads are narrow and winding, but the views are worth every turn.
