Climbing, climbing, and climbing (and water at a diamond price)
After eating delicious burgers with lots of new friends in the evening, we woke up early. We were lucky that Némo (the friend I visited in Réunion) came to supply us with provisions for the second half of the GRR1. We agreed to meet at a bakery, where we could enjoy some local pâtisserie and a much-needed serving of caffeine.
From then on, it was only uphill. The town of Cilaos is at an altitude of about 1,200 meters. Benoît, a friend of Némo’s, was kind enough to drop us off at the last car park. This meant we only had to climb 1,700 meters on our own. There was no hurry, as long as we reached the summit by sunset — because that’s where we were going to sleep.
The first part went surprisingly smoothly. Up to the first mountain pass, at about 2,400 meters, you walk almost continuously through dense forest, in the shade. A little past halfway, there’s a water source — the ideal place for a well-earned break. What we didn’t know then was that the water supply to the mountain hut was broken. As a result, we couldn’t refill our bottles. There was only one thing to do: wait until 3 p.m., when the hut opened, and buy water.
While waiting, we got talking to a couple from Belgium. You might think, Wow, the world is small, but the world turned out to be even smaller. The woman had studied in Ghent and actually lived on the same street as me. Crazy.
When the hut opened, we were shocked by the astronomically high water prices: five euros per liter. It was our only painful option to survive the last part of the climb, under the blistering sun. We tried to keep drinking to a minimum, as we also needed water to prepare our freeze-dried food.
Meanwhile, the vegetation had been reduced to an absolute minimum. The landscape took on something otherworldly — the red rock was reminiscent of Mars.
Well before sunset, we reached the summit. We quickly pitched our tent before euphorically enjoying the surrounding landscape.
A Mountain with a Shadow
The Piton des Neiges is by far the highest mountain in Réunion. On the other side of the Cirque de Cilaos lies the Grand Bénare, which, at 2,898 meters, comes somewhat close. Further south, the Piton de la Fournaise towers above the surrounding landscape. At 2,621 meters, this volcano still makes a good attempt to reach the ankles of the mighty Piton des Neiges.
Despite its tropical location, the name Piton des Neiges isn’t just for show — it can actually snow here! When we were there, temperatures hovered around freezing. Combined with a strong wind, a good down jacket was no luxury!
The sun slowly sets, and it's a true spectacle of colors, shadows, and rolling clouds. Words fail me. It’s beautiful here — soothingly beautiful. In my wonder, I almost forget to breathe.
The next morning, we get up early — the alarm goes off at 4 a.m. There's a good reason for that: the starry sky. The evening had been less ideal because of the full moon, which lit up the night sky just a bit too much. Fortunately, by morning, it had already set. The Milky Way is beautifully visible, and I feel insignificant, realizing how much is still out there.
Slowly but surely, dancing lights begin to appear at the base of the mountain. ‘Dancing’ is a bit of a euphemism — they’re the headlights of people who spent the night in the mountain hut and are now hoping for the best sunrise of their lives. Suddenly, there are about eighty of us, all waiting for that magical moment. It’s five o’clock — just fifteen more minutes, and then it’s here.
And there it is — the gift of the day: the sun! As a photographer, my head is a whirlwind. In just a few minutes, the whole spectacle will be over. The sun, like the highest mountain peaks, rises above the sheet of clouds.
The shadow of the Piton des Neiges now falls over the Grand Bénare, which, five minutes later, is also bathed in beautiful red light. There are many of us standing here, but it’s remarkably quiet. Everyone is simply enjoying the moment. It’s beautiful.
An hour later, the soft morning glow has vanished. The sun is suddenly what it has always been: not an intimate red, but a burning, blinding ball of light that forces me to smear a gritty layer of sunscreen across my face. The eternal descent can begin...
