The sky looked different that morning. Heavy clouds gathered above the mountains, and the sound of rain echoed softly against the windows. It was our last full day on the island, and I remember waking up with mixed feelings: a little sadness, a little wonder.
Our tour guide for the day was an elderly man named Jean François. He arrived at the hotel in his van just as the rain started pouring harder. When we met him, the first thing he asked, in his calm, gentle voice, was whether we still wanted to go ahead with the trip. We decided to try, thinking that if it got too bad, we could always come back.
Jean François had thought of everything. He brought raincoats and umbrellas for us, and as the rain fell steadily, we slipped them on and headed out. The roads glistened, the trees shimmered, and the whole island seemed to be breathing differently; quieter, slower.
Our first stop was Cascade Jacqueline. The rain made everything slippery, and I remember feeling nervous as we walked. Jean François, patient and kind, guided us carefully, reminding us to take small steps. I wouldn’t recommend visiting a waterfall on a rainy day, but somehow, the experience was worth it. The waterfall roared in the distance, powerful and alive, and for a few minutes, we stood there watching nature do its thing. The mist, the sound of water, the rain on our skin; it was pure, raw beauty.
We didn’t stay long because the weather kept getting worse. Jean François suggested we stop by a beach nearby; I wish I could remember its name. The wind was strong and the waves wild. We found shelter in a small kiosk by the shore. Jean François unpacked his bag and, to our surprise, made us hot tea right there. He even gave me a pair of gloves when it started to get colder.
We sat there for a while, just the three of us watching the waves crash against the rocks. He shared stories from his life, from his years of guiding travelers across the island, from the days when the volcano had erupted and people had to leave their homes. His voice carried the wisdom of someone who had seen life in all its seasons.
I remember thinking how special that moment was. We had planned to visit many other places that day, but soon after, a weather alert was issued, and the tour had to be cut short. Yet I didn’t feel disappointed. I felt grateful.
Sometimes, when things don’t go as planned, life gives you something better; a memory that stays longer. That day, for me, it was the sound of rain, a cup of tea, and the company of a wise old man who reminded me that slowing down can be its own adventure.
When we got back to the hotel, the rain was still heavy. We couldn’t go out for dinner, so Jean-Yves, always so caring, offered to prepare lunch and dinner for us and the other guests. The smell of warm food filled the small dining room, and everyone chatted softly, like one big family hiding from the storm. My heart was full of gratitude for the people, the island, and the way life gently teaches you through moments like these.
It was our last night on Réunion Island. The next day, our flight was scheduled for around one in the afternoon. I remember sitting on the bed, listening to the rain and feeling like time had disappeared. It was hard to believe that it had only been four days; I felt as if I had lived a whole lifetime here.
Six years have passed since that trip, but Réunion still lives in me in the stillness, the peace, the warmth of its people. It’s an island I would return to in a heartbeat, this time to stay longer, maybe a month, maybe more.