Me vs. the Volcano

 Three years ago to the day, Mario and I were hiking up to eastern side of the Soufrière volcano, from the Galion waterfalls to the Citerne caldera. Five years ago, we were just arriving to the island, on our first trip to tropical Guadeloupe. Le choses se suivent, mais ne se ressemblent pas - things follow each other, but are never the same. Coincidentally, last night, we decided today would be a great day, weather-wise, for a hike, and since we chose this location because of its proximity to the volcano, why not go hike up La Soufrière? We only realized this evening that, day for day, we were following in our own footsteps.

It was a slow start - with a strong overnight storm waking us several times, sleep was less that restful, and 6 am came way too soon. I had a tough time leaving the comfort of my bed, and even the promise of fresh pastries from the bakery next door did little to get me going. Regardless, we were packed, snacked and ready to start our hike up the volcano at 8 am, just is time to watch several tour groups follow us in. Boo. Guess we should've expected as much on a Saturday!

The first part of the hike, past the Bains Jaunes hot springs pool and along the cobbled Pas du Roy trail, was more draining on me than I anticipated. Maybe it was a combination of lack of sleep and the heavy codfish accras at last night's dinner, but I felt sluggish and out of breath. I came to the realization, while making my way through this section painfully slowly, that I do not like hiking on long uphill slopes, or large sections of stairs. Arriving at the Savane à Mulets terrace, the starting point for the climb up the mountain, I breathed a sight of relief, knowing that the next sections were rocky scrambles combined with flat sections, and I relish in the technical challenge they present, having to figure out where to put my foot next. They work all the leg muscles equally hard, and I feel a certain amount of satisfaction and contentment in finishing each hard climb.

Mario and I really enjoy the Soufrière hikes, because they offer so much to look at, so much to see that's different. I watch some people running up the trail, like it's some sort of race to the top, another item they need to check off their proverbial bucket list, and I wonder about how much they miss in going too fast. Do they see the way the moss has expanded with the overnight rains, becoming a veritable carpet of sponge? I stopped several times to press my palms deep into the vegetation, fresh rain water running between me fingers and down my hands. Do they notice the little green bell flowers hidden under the giant elephant ear plants, raindrops caught in their petals. Do they smell the heavy presence of sulfur in the air, of feel the mist from the fog settling on their skin? As much as the hike is about getting to the top of the mountain and down again, it is also about the journey, and so many little moments get passed over...

The arrival at the top comes with two realizations: 1 - that it is crazy windy, and 2 - that sadly, we can no longer explore the top of the sulfurous volcano, because new vents have opened up in the past 2 years, making the trails dangerous to travel, due to toxic gases. Mario and I are lucky in the fact that we got the chance to walk up here 5 years ago, and so hold on to those memories as we nearly get blown off the mountain! We kinda hoped that this intense wind would blow away some of the cloud coverage, so we could luck out with a clear view down the slope, through Saint-Claude and out to the ocean, but it was not to be. Which is, honestly, not that surprising - La Soufrière sees an average of 8 days a year of sun at its summit. This was not one of those days. However, even with the freight train-like winds and 100% moisture smacking us in the face and knocking us around, we both had huge smiles on our faces. After all, we had summited a volcano.

On the descent back to the parking lot, we observed the stream of hikers heading uphill. So many people beginning the trek later in the day are day-trippers that don't realize the intensity or difficulty of the hike, and come here woefully unprepared. We snicker at all the gleaming white sneakers that will inevitably get covered in mud, and shake our heads at the few who start in flip-flops. These people will barely make it to Savane à Mulets, expecting a clear view of the summit, and turn back around again. Other curiosities include people heading out in swimwear, or jeans, or lacking things like long sleeves and rain jackets - the summit was a cool 15 C, whereas the temperature in Saint-Claude was 28 C - big difference. I also pondered the need for some women to undertake the climb not with a backpack, but with their purses slung over their shoulder - that confuses me. A whole mixed bag of questionable choices.

We agree on one very important point, that has nothing to do with preparedness: Every hike should finish at a hot spring. The naturally heated Bain Jaunes are so wonderful for relaxing sore muscles after the strenuous climb, and it is the perfect way cap off a challenging-yet-rewarding morning. I was so relaxed after my dip in the lusciously-warm waters that I had to fight to stay awake for the drive home, as I am the all-important navigator! I may have laid down on a patch of sun for a very refreshing afternoon siesta, though. Maybe.

Later that afternoon, we found ourselves at the Grande Anse beach for a little sun and sand, and even rougher waves than yesterday. We watch on as local family gathers nearby, a young family, clearly very pregnant, clusters together and looks out to the ocean. Someone takes photos, and someone else attempts to light candles on the sand with little luck, as the wind tries to foil the plan. I realize as the smoke emerges from the candle, that it is a gender-reveal, and the ecstatic couple turns around and are enveloped in blue smoke. The mother shrieks with delight, and hugs are exchanged. It curious how things like a gender reveal find their way out here, but then not, as the Internet and social media have made the world just a little bit smaller, and maybe a little more homogenous? Regardless, it was a beautiful moment to "eaves-drop" on.

So, who knows if history will repeat itself tomorrow. We had no plans, but when we do, you can bet it won't involve any strenuous uphill climbs. Tired legs tonight, y'all.