A short tale of relaxing

After several days of big hikes, Mario and I decided to close out the year in style, and gift ourselves with one last day of ultimate relaxation. No alarm to wake us up this morning - we get up with the sun, hobble a little more slowly down the stairs to the kitchen, enjoy our coffee outside on the front deck in the warm sunlight. We have little in the way of plans. Tonight, it is New Year Eve, and though the bottle of Champagne has been chilling in the fridge for a couple of days, we do need a meal to accompany it. Nearby is a really great little take-out counter that specializes in traditional Guadeloupean, slow-cooked dishes, so we take a little walk around 10 to pick up our evening's meal, a Colombo de Cabri(goat simmered in curry spices). 

Grande Anse Beach

Arts & Crafts at the beach

Back at the apartment, we take the time to have a second coffee, then throw a few things in a bag and head to the Grand Anse beach. A little sun, a little swimming, a little sand, a little napping, we just spend a few hours enjoying the beautiful black sand beach, which is remarkably quiet for a Sunday. Even the Sorbet Coco lady is absent. And even as we drive back into town, we notice all the shops closed, their windows shuttered up. Today is a family holiday - people will be gathered together, sharing  lovingly-prepared meals and celebrating. We can hear them in the neighbouring homes as we pull into the garden of our Airbnb. 

Pre-dinner snacks

Our night is a quiet, relaxing one: We have a few snacks with our Ti'Punch, some Christmas Ham and Emmental cheese, while we coordinate departure times and and arrival times for tomorrow. But not yet - tonight we are still in relax mode. We tune into the French New Year's celebrations, trying to ring in 2024 with Paris, but then realize that the broadcast is being delayed to coincide with Guadeloupe's New Year, which is 1 hour ahead of home...suffice it to say that we toasted to the New Year 4 times by the time we collapsed into bed, not really sure if we made it to midnight, or even where. 

Colombo de Cabri with red beans and rice	Cheers to a Happy and Healthy New Year!
Champagne to toast in the New Year	Buche de Noel and the festivities in Paris

Regardless, we'll see you all in 2024.

The story about perseverance

We checked the weather, we checked the seismic activity, we looked out the window - everything indicated that today would be THE DAY to hike up La Soufriere volcano. In 4 visits, and 3 climbs we had never had the chance to see the top of the volcano in the sun. And that is completely normal - there are only 8 days a year when the mountain is not sporting a crown of clouds, often accompanied by wind and rain. In the past couple of days of travel out and about this side of the island, we have taken notice that the summit has been remarkably clear. So today, we took a chance, packed bags and lunches and boots. We got up *really* early and drove out to Saint-Claude, and up all the twisty-turny roads. We weren't the only ones - half the island seemed to have the same idea, and we found ourselves faced with an overfull parking lot and an extra 400m hike up the road to get to the trail head. But we were here, and the summit looked clear.

When Mario and I completed our hike to Chutes du Carbet 2 days ago, we both agreed that, in hindsight, La Soufriere was easier. The first part, the Pas du Roy or "King's Steps", is not steep and takes place on large stone pathways. The climb up the volcano circles the cone as it climbs, so it is long, but not hard, until the final ascent. But I felt tired. Likely from the strenuous hike, but also from less restful sleep on a hard mattress, an early start, forgetting to drink my coffee before we rushed out the door...Regardless, just hiking up the road to the START of the hike winded me. Each section of the Pas du Roy was like a punch in the gut. I would climb three stairs, and have to stop for a break. I was upset at myself - I knew I was better than this, so why was my body protesting so much?! About 3/4 of the way to the defunct parking at Savane à Mulets, I started questioning whether my hike would be over before it truly began. I sincerely thought of nothing else but reaching the plateau just below the real volcano hike started, and turning around to go back to the car. 

	View of the surrounding mountains from the top
Lunch time on the summit!	The smoking fumaroles of the active crater

As I exited the rainforest, sun touching my face, I caught sight of the majesty of the volcano with not a cloud nearby, wisp of smoke trailing down one side. I stretched my legs out as I hit the flat pavement of the condemned parking lot. I took a deep breath, and then another, and felt myself catch that second wind. I won't say it was easy after that moment. The hike was still challenging, with lots of scrambling over rocks, navigating around other hikers on a particularly narrow trail, and the adding challenge of the heat and sun today. There was a lot of careful foot placement, of 4-limbed climbing up some sections near the top. But when we got there, oh, what a sweet reward to be able to see the summit in such light, to see the smoking fumaroles of the active crater, to look around us and see out to the ocean, for kilometres in all directions. We sat in the grass on the summit, took off our boots and ate our sandwiches, expressions of sheer happiness on our faces. (Well, until a young woman walked by, not looking, and nearly kicked my boot down the side of the volcano. THAT would have made for a challenging descent!)

Of course, what goes up must come down, and so back down we went, passing many more groups of people starting their own climbs. Around 10:30, there was a lot more trail traffic, and so the going was slow, but manageable, because from this point on, it was all downhill. Plus, there was the sweet, sweet lure of the Bains Jaunes at the end of the hike that made everything else seem insignificant. The Bains Jaunes, or "Yellow Baths" are hot springs located at the trailhead, fed by water heated by the volcano. They are slightly sulfuric, explaining the "yellow" moniker, but also incredibly soothing for aching, sore muscles, particularly after an 8km round trip up and down a volcano. They are the best reason to complete the Soufriere hike, because then you've earned your dip in the healing waters. I laugh at all the people who merely dunk their feet in. You can't appreciate the healing properties of the hot spring unless you submerge completely.

Relaxed and content, we head to Grande Anse beach and spend the rest of the day jumping the waves, snoozing on the beach and slurping delicious sorbet coco from the vendor in the parking lot. Then it's back to the Airbnb for an amazing shower(I believe that the more layers of gunk you have to wash off, the more refreshing the shower), a walk about town, and a dinner of our favorite chicken boucané in Guadeloupe. And all through it, I am tired but smiling, because today I got to see the best view of Guadeloupe, and one that only few people are lucky enough to see.

The story about understanding time

We've been traveling to this island a lot in the past 6 years - so much so, in fact, that Mario and I like to think we've finally got the daily schedule pinned down. Today was a good lesson that we may understand some of it, but there is always a curveball that can be thrown our way. 

Wanting something a little more chill after the strenuous hike up to Chutes des Carbet yesterday, we booked a tour and tasting at one of the newest rum distilleries on the island, Papa Rouyo. Our tour is scheduled for 10:30, but Mario gets an email notification from the distillery that we should be at the place for 9:30. Okay - now I *know* no French tourist in their right mind is going to show up a whole HOUR before the scheduled tour,  they would rather sit in their rental villa and have another café. Against our better judgement, we DO head down to Goyave, and the Papa Rouyo distillery, and sure enough, no one is there. Not even the workers, not even the tour guide, NO ONE. We laugh a little at the ridiculousness of the whole thing, sit at a picnic table in the impromptu beer garden outside, and wait. About 10:20, a woman climbs out of a parked car that we thought was empty, and comes over to tell us that some of the group is a little late, so we will start when everyone gets here. At this point, it's not even surprising, except for the fact that we've not been offered anything to drink, a cool place to sit - the usual Guadeloupe hospitality is a little bit lacking. Eventually, everyone arrives, and we head out on our tour of the facilities.

Murals outside Papa Rouyo	Tasting notes
Rhum tasting at Papa Rouyo	The big still for making rhum

Papa Rouyo is the product of quite a history in the Guadeloupe sugar cane industry. It is owned by the fourth generation of a sugar cane producing family, who turned to rum after the cane sugar industry all but disappeared in Guadeloupe, losing out to cheaper beetroot sugar from eastern Europe. The difference here, in comparison to other larger producers on the island, is that Papa Rouyo is the equivalent of a small-batch distillery, making their products with sugar cane from specific producers, or specific lands, meaning that each has a unique and distinct taste that will likely never be replicated. Not only that, but their product is SO new, their aged rum(at least 3 years in barrels) is not even made with their own rum yet, but white rum they acquired when they opened up shop! Our guide tells us all about this, the history, the production, the distillation process, before she leads us to a cool back room to taste the products. She is well-informed, knowledgeable, had a diploma from the Collège du Rhum - and yes, that is a thing in Guadeloupe. At the end of the tour and tasting, (which by the way, involves some very smooth white rum, though nothing tops Bielle on our list of favorites) she suggests a good place for a bite, a maniocrie that makes everything using the manioc flour, from kassavs to crepes to hamburger buns...We take the bait, get the directions, and head next over to Îlet Pérou and the Maniocrie de Germaine for a lunch that promises to soak up all that rum!

Ham and cheese crepe, Marlin kassav and drinks

Lunch is fantastic, and quiet! As per our observations of French tourists, lunch is taken late, after the morning's activities. Therefore, when we arrive just before noon, the place is empty, save one other table. By the time we finish at 1:30, it is *just* starting to fill up. It is a good place to try some more local delicacies - not only the manioc flour kassavs, which are galettes with any number of fillings sandwiched into the middle, but also wonderful crepes, rolled into cones, also overflowing with delicious ingredients. Ham and cheese are the classic combination, but fish, such as tuna or marlin, is really great, and very local. Everything is seasoned with spicy Sauce Chien, but we would expect nothing less in Guadeloupe. There is an exhaustive list of homemade juices, but also punches, infused rum drinks, and though I am not one to drink alcohol with lunch, the sound of a punch giraumon is too enticing. Giraumon is a local type of pumpkin, smooth and creamy like a kabocha, and so the resulting drink, mixed with coconut milk and spices, tastes like pumpkin pie in a glass. Even Mario can't resist!

Full of delicious local food, we capitalize on the fact that we are still within that "Tourist Lunch Window" of 12-3pm, and drive north to the Jardins de Valombreuse. This is another Botanical Garden, one that not too many people talk about. They all prefer Deshaies. But I honestly think both gardens have their charms, and Valombreuse was definitely worth the visit. After all, Mario and I love learning about the local flora, so that we can point it out on our hikes and attempt to best each other with our retained knowledge. Plus, there is a tourist train, and you know how we feel about a tourist train!

	Pink Ibis
Flamingos
	Roucou seeds, also called Annatto
	Lorikeet

The train gives us a taste of what the park has to offer, but the real visit happens on foot, walking along the skinny paths that crisscross the park, wandering through different gardens, different zones, and offering different sights at every turn. One garden mimics the layout of healing plants the people of Guadeloupe may have once had planted on their own property. Herbs and vegetables share space with medicinal plants and fruit trees. Another garden contains hundreds of cactus varieties, another has a whole canopy of hanging pots containing every orchid imaginable. Entire hillsides are covered in red foliage, or tiny purple pompoms. A pond next to a white house is teeming with lily pads, their flowers only days away from blooming, the purple of their petals contracting with the bright orange of the massive Koi fish swimming underneath. We wander amongst palm trees and porcelain roses, catch sight of hummingbirds chasing each other in the canopy above, and follow a trail of cutter ants carrying their food like bright green sails on their backs. And the park is calm and quiet(save a noisy group of school-aged children in their uniforms), until 3:30, when all of those late-lunching French tourists start making their way back to the attraction sites again. In fact, we are making our way back to the exit/gift shop, and another tourist train passes us, absolutely packed with people. It's amazing how predictable they are!

Guadeloupe rush hour!

For all our knowledge of the typical "tourist" schedule here in Guadeloupe, we forget one fundamental thing. Guadeloupe is still a living, breathing, functioning country. They do not plan *their* days around the typical "tourist" schedule. They have jobs, they go to work, they drive home every evening. Around 4:30. Guadeloupe is also a volcanic island, with one main highway that circumnavigates this side of the island, and little or no secondary routes that contour it. So when everyone heads home, there is a guaranteed traffic jam on that one highway. It doesn't matter that you are a tourist, hoping to get to the beach before the sun sets behind that volcano, making it too cold to go swimming, you are going to inch your way along that highway at 10 km/h, just like everyone else.

View of Les Saintes driving down into town

So we win some, we lose some. It's just another lesson in traveling other places in the world. For Mario and I, time may be standing still as we go about our days, make decisions on the fly of what we want to do or visit, whether it be hike a volcano, go to the beach, or stay at the Airbnb and take a nap. But we need to be reminded, every once in a while, that the world is not on vacation with us. They are going about their daily routines, and we are just a moment, an small, insignificant element that will float in and out of their lives for the briefest of moments. And I think, once you figure that out, then you can begin to see the world just a little bit differently, and we have more respect for the places we visit, since, after all, it is someone's home.

A story about seeing both sides

Many of the hikes on this side of the islands are ones Mario and I have done before, and so we have specific memories associated to each one. The Soufriere Volcano, for example, we have climbed on every trip here, and plan to again this time, but not today. Mario's plans for today is to return to the Chutes du Carbet, a series of waterfalls that run from the Soufriere run-off, down the side of the island, eventually finding their way to the ocean. Some of the larger ones are accessible on one same hike, and we remember that hike being a particularly well-maintained and relatively quiet, so that's the plan for the day.

Of course, being on vacation, we have a lazy start, even though we don't wake terribly late. In between bites of yogurt and granola, and sips of coffee, we pack hiking gear and bathing suits in the car, prepare sandwiches and water bottles. Then we are off and down the highway and climbing up steep one-lane but two-way roads, through villages and jungle, up the side of the mountain on the way to the Chutes du carbet. I remember very specifically this drive, as 6 years ago, we happened to find ourselves trapped behind a rather slow-moving tour bus full of retired French tourists, likely fresh off a cruise. Watching the speed at which the compact cars are booting past us now as we climb higher and higher, I still cannot wrap my head around the idea of that massive bus navigating these tight turns.

At the top, we manage to find a parking spot quite easily, as it is almost noon and per the French tourist schedule(I think I should trademark that term), people are clearing out for their 3-hour lunch, and then afternoon at the beach. The entrance is not free, though I don't think it ever was, as this park does not fall completely within the borders of the National park, and so a private enterprise has done some pretty good work laying out a small welcome centre, washrooms, etc. From here, we begin the hike.

Now, at this point, you might be wondering - if you have done this hike before, you've seen the views, followed the same trails, is it really worth it to do the same over again? As some wise person once said, likely, "It is not about the destination, but the journey". We hike not to check a location off of that proverbial "bucket list", but to enjoy the challenge of the hike, to mock the people we pass, to have all manner of conversations while we go, to enjoy the company, and another view on the world we are a part of. 

So the hike. Usually you begin most hikes by starting to climb UP. Not this one. First you descend to the river via several stone paths and wooden staircase, cross a bridge to the other side and over to a small viewing platform, which offers the best views of the 2nd waterfall(there are several). It's nice going down to start a hike, but there's always this little tug in the back of your mind, reminding you that when you are all muddy and wet and tired at the end of the hike, the last thing between you and the car will be ALL OF THESE STAIRS. Mario once told me, for every step you take into the hike, you'll be taking just as many out, so be mindful of your level of tiredness. And stairs count double.

After the viewpoint for the 2nd falls, we take a second trail that only climbs, up, up, up into the rainforest, towards the next set of falls. The sound of rain surrounds us, though whether it comes from the sky or the surrounding trees, I am not sure. All I know is that the air is so humid, I am soaked, and it's not only from sweat. I am swimming up the trail. People pass us going back down, and offer small words of encouragement, or sometimes try to discourage with descriptions of the trials they just completed, legs streaked with mud, white running shoes now dirt brown, slip-sliding along every surface. Mario and I laugh a little, our hiking boots offering more grip, our bags waterproof, our jacket tucked securely inside. We are ready for this trail.

Some of the climb involves rock scrambles, aided by ropes, or well-worn tree roots people have used as handholds. Some involves wooden stairs, always uneven, mostly steep, but better than the slippery, muddy alternative. The hardest part, and the one I remember the most from last time, is what I affectionately dub the "Stairs of Death". It's a little extreme, but hear me out: It's a combination of boardwalk and steps that run on for a couple of kilometres, in the heart of the rainforest, eventually leading to the final descent back to the river. Impressive when you think that workers had to carry all of this stuff up here to build so many wooden structures, but painful when you are walking up them. The flat sections are not long enough to ever give your knees a reprieve from the climb, and the stair sections are steep, uneven, falling apart in places, and just awkward to climb at any steady pace. And just when you turn what you think is going to be the last section of climbing, THERE'S MORE! The relief I feel when I get to the end of that section of the climb is incredible - until I turn and realize I now have to scramble down slippery, muddy rocks and roots to get to the river.

We have this sort of agreement this time around in Guadeloupe, Mario and I. He is happy I am out hiking with him, so the destination is not important - the hike is. The suggested times for this section of the hike are not realistic for our pace this time around, with me nursing a bruised shin from earlier in the hike, and the humidity weighting both of us down. We arrive at the second river crossing when we *should* be getting to the 1st falls. We make the decision to call this our turning point, and begin the trek back, especially when our energy reserves are already waning. And it certainly doesn't help that the lightweight boots Mario got for the trip are not up to his usual standards, make him about as steady on his feet as I am normally. And if you know Mario, you know he doesn't hike a mountain, he *floats* up it, so this is serious. 

And now comes the part where everything is turned on its head. That final decent of slipping down muddy rocks becomes a challenging climb instead, something I am learning that I enjoy more and more. Figuring out where to place my foot next, always planning more than one step ahead so as to not get myself stuck and have to backtrack, using the roots and ropes and rocks available to me to keep those 3 precious points of contact with the ground at all times. Making it up is more enjoyable than the scramble down. The best part, though, is discovering that all of those "Stairs of Death" have become stairs of SALVATION, now a slow, meandering walking through the peaceful forest. The birds are chirping around us, the topics of conversation flowing freely now that we can relax and just enjoy the moment. It's funny how I remember so clearly the pain of walking UP them from 6 years ago, and yet forgot so easily the joy of walking DOWN them.

More scrambling, though on much less busy trails, and we make it down to the 2nd falls and back to the final, grueling stair climb back to the welcome centre. I knew it was coming, but it doesn't make it any easier to complete. And when we get back to the car, tired, but still happy, we both realize that this was a much harder hike that EITHER of us remembered, even compared to the Soufriere climb. And it's true - once we got back to the Airbnb, too tired to even head to the beach for the afternoon, I check the info in the guidebook. The total hike to the falls and back is 12km. Mario figures we had about 1km to go, so that's a 10km hike we put in today. In 4 hours. On day 3 of the trip. Needless to say, tonight's activities consisted of nothing more strenuous than napping, and tomorrow, the only hiking we will be doing will be from the car to the rum distillery tasting counter. 

But it was still fun.

A story about becoming the other 10%

Today's story begins like much of our other stories, with a trip to the bakery for fresh bread, a good breakfast, a cup of coffee. We pack hiking boots and bathing suits into a duffle bag, ham and cheese sandwiches into a backpack, and head out for the day's adventure. In all of his pouring over the map last night while I made our belated Christmas dinner, Mario formed a plan for hiking today. Nearby is a location where the waters from the Galion river pool among the boulders of its bed, creating natural bassins in which you can swim. The water is especially mineral-rich, so on sunny days, the pools glow a brilliant blue colour, giving them the name "Bassins Bleus". The main trail to the bassins is wide and gravely, even has some Land Rovers taking tours down it, which makes this location ideal for families with small children, people who are less mobile, but also people looking for an "authentic" experience with minimal effort, so basically 90% of the tourists here. 

The easy part of the trail

Scrambling up the ladder of tree roots

With a little more research, Mario found that the trail continues. Past the initial basin, up what can only be described as a ladder of tree roots, and onwards, along the river to the next basin, and the next, and the one after that, all the way to the Chute de la Parabole. Like many of these locations with an easily accessible main attraction, all you have to do is travel just a little further than the 90% of people who stop at the first sight of blue water, and you have the place pretty much all to yourself. With many concerned pairs of eyes looking on, Mario and I climbed the ladder of roots to the continuing trail, crossing paths with one of the two groups we see for the rest of this hike. We walk behind a line of trees above the river, following a pipe that runs to a basic pump station, where water is collected to help the town of Goubeyre stay well supplied. And when I say pump station, I mean a 4x6-foot cement block with a large pipe running in one side, and the overflow spilling out the front and all over the trail. 

Another blue bassin up here!

Rainforest trekking

We scramble up and down large boulders, heading down to the river, which we criss-cross a couple of times. This was one of the things mentioned in Mario's research, that might turn off the majority of day-trippers. You are GOING to get wet on this hike - at least your feet. In preparation for this, we brought water shoes, that we could easily switch to should the going get too wet, but which are definitely not ideal for hiking. Thankfully, with a little extra balance and planning, we were able to hopscotch our way front rock to rock, staying generally out of the deepest of the water. 

Climbing vertically along the water pipe

Reward for a technically difficult climb

We take a turn along an offshoot of the main river, and are faced with a group of waterfall rock-climbers, ropes and carabiners hanging from their belts, watersuits allowing them a carefree climb in the falls. They slide down the rocks on their butts, splashing down with not a care in the world. We laugh at their similarity to the seals we saw in a nature show last night. We climb up what can only be explained as a maintenance access to a water collection basket, high up in the falls. Ropes and wires and rebar steps are set into the rock, and so the climb is easy, but challenging because of the technical nature of it. Mario calls up to be to maintain 3 point of contact at all times, as my foot finds a solid spot on a rock and my hands grasp another heavy metal "rung". Reaching the top does not afford any spectacular views, nor cool swimming ponds, but the satisfaction of knowing I made it without a slip of mistake makes me happy, and I drink a celebratory sip of cool water from my bottle. And then we head back down again.

Cold water, a baguette, and quiet

Water shoes were a good idea!

Most of the trail is like this.

Another couple of river crossings and we decide that there is nothing more we will gain from getting all the way to Chute de la Parabole, and we don't want to get overtired scrambling our way over the boulders to get there, just to have to tiredly make our way back again. Around the halfway point between the Bassin Bleu and the Chute de la Parabole, Mario and I sit down to eat lunch, and dunk our feet into the cool waters of the river. No one is around, we have this entire rainforest and river and pool all to ourselves. And that's the wondrous thing about pushing the extra little bit more, to move past the crowds, and see something that not everyone sees, in a way that not everyone sees it.

Enjoying the falls at the main bassin

The back of the Bassin Bleu

We do stop at the main pool on our way out, after climbing down that crazy root ladder under the gaze of all the other bathers. The pool here has been solidified with a cement wall, creating a deep blue basin surrounded by tall, thin waterfalls. Some people are jumping from the cliff above into the water, but most are just enjoying the the area, taking turns in the main basin. As we make our way back up the path to the car, we pass another 10 groups of people making their way in - it's just past 2:30, so late lunch time for French tourists, and they are just now heading back out for their afternoon's activities. We've observed this behaviour over the course of 4 trips now, and the best time to visit something without the crowds is between noon and 3 pm. It works every time.

Our reward: Sorbet Coco on the beach

Ending of a great day.

We reward ourselves for a good but strenuous hike with an afternoon at Grand Anse beach. Today, the sorbet coco lady is serving up cups of the sweet, creamy dessert, her "assistant" slowly turning the handle on the old-fashioned ice cream churn, so we make our way along the black sand with cups of dripping, sticky sorbet coco in tow. Today, a groups of teens are celebrating a birthday - the girls play games under the roof of a picnic carbet, the boys run down the beach with a soccer ball. I see Mario doing everything in his power to keep from joining them. Instead, we head into the water and float in seriously smoother waves from yesterday.

Tonight, we finally get the rest of our groceries, at yet another grocery store. It seems the one we were trying to get to has closed permanently. We also make it to our favorite chicken place where the codfish accras are delicious, the chicken beautifully smoked, and the sauce chien spicy, and never enough. And Mario pulls out the map while I chop vegetables for a salad - I wonder what plans he will come up with for tomorrow?