Sunday, January 30
Wow, I’m really really tired. Where to begin ...
I woke up, went to the bathroom, and found yet another disappearing bar of soap. Second time this has happened; I’m guessing it’s due to those small geckos. I went for breakfast and figuring that I needed to load up on carbs prior to this Petit Piton hike, I went with the French toast doused in maple syrup, with two scrambled eggs and fresh fruit. I rested in the room, while I waited for 9 AM to roll around. At 9 AM, Kester and I waited for this newly arrived couple from Florida, but they were nowhere to be found. I spoke with three new guests (a married couple and their best friend), desperately trying to find a voltage converter. I offered them mine once I depart on Monday. We planned to meet for breakfast Monday morning. Kester went to find the couple; he found out they were still exhausted from their travel and were still in bed. I talked more with the best friend. His name also was Jeff.
Kester and I drove to the base of Petit Piton. It’s the tallest of the Pitons (you would think Petit would be smaller than Gros but that’s not the case), at 2461 feet above sea level. Unfortunately, during the drive to the base, I noticed that Petit Piton seemed to be getting larger and larger while we seemed to be diving lower and lower, towards sea level. We parked the car in a small field at the base. I had to remind Kester to change from flip-flops to sneakers. I asked him how fast he has hiked this. “One hour and fifteen minutes.” My mouth dropped to the floor. During this hike, he would tell me that he’s been hiking this since age 13 and does it “quite often.” “You’ll do okay.” I couldn’t tell by his chill delivery whether this meant to be encouraging or sarcastic.
Kester forgot to mention several things during this trek. First, how the trail wasn’t very well paved. Sure, this is my fault. I shouldn’t have expected the most tourist friendly path. (Gros Petit is noted have a more tourist friendly path.) Second, how steep the trail was. As a barometer, I have Stone Mountain in Atlanta. Petit Piton is about three times steeper; it appeared to be pushing forty-five degrees for the entire hike. I knew this because fatigue was setting in at a rapid rate. Plus, I found myself using my arms for most of the trip, whether it was grabbing the ground in front of me or pulling on tree roots, and in fact it was what saved me as I was able to pull myself up regularly to help relieve the strain on my legs. I lasted about twenty minutes before I need to take regular breaks. Kester was not phased at all. “It gets easier.” Either I misheard him or he has a different definition. What I found was, three, the trail seemed to be getting steeper. The appearance of ropes at regular intervals started to make me think, What did I get myself into? It was tiring. Though my legs were holding up during this uphill climb, from a cardiovascular standpoint, my heart was near red-lining. I managed to survive the rope climbs, though I got nervous since my running shoes were losing traction. Kester gave me simple advice like “Use both arms” or “Use both ropes” or “Make sure not to fall.” I was finding it so ridiculous that it became funny. My shoes were punctured by trees. I walked face-first into a stray branch. It was more and more slippery; it must have rained overnight. I found myself dependent on all fours, essentially rock-climbing the final half of the hike. I was pulling with my arms and pushing with my feet. Thankfully, after one-and-a-half hours, I saw the trees fade away and the view I expected to make it all better came into view. And made it all better. I saw down, way down into crystal blue waters, overlooking Soufriere, with the other mountain ranges of the island appearing. We were terribly high up. A rainbow appeared.
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| At about 1500 feet above sea level |
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| The first rope encounter |
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| Steeper rope climbs |
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| Kester enjoying the view |
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| I'm enjoying the view too |
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| Blue everywhere |
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| The view from the top (note the rainbow) |
The way down really sucked. I remember the magnificent Samaria Gorge on the island of Crete, and hiking about twenty kilometers straight downward over five hours. Marvelous yes, but we all had knee pain and effusions at the bottom. I thought the steepness of our hike up Petit Piton worried me on the way up; it fucked with me on the way down. One missed step and I’m done for. I was wary about landing softly to protect my knees (a lesson learned from Samaria Gorge). I found myself spider-walking my way down, which proved a dirty toll on my once white shorts and a painful toll on my quadriceps. At the halfway point, I could feel my knees buckling. Kester was motivating me by singing “Superman.” But he was singing Eminem’s version. At one point, I tried sitting on a boulder to catch a breath. Only for the boulder to starting loosening and sliding; I quickly got up before it progressed and took us both out. The way down my legs were dying. We finally got down to the bottom. Wow. I felt like I had to relearn how to walk.
Kester drove us to a mineral bath. “All your problems will go away.” I paid the entrance free and bought us a couple of beers to drink. We had negotiate about fifty total steps (up and down) to get to the mineral bath. I was struggling here. The different motor muscle groups in my legs were struggling to coordinate. Then we got to the baths. And let me tell you, all my problems melted away.
The mineral baths are a natural spring and bath derived from the caldera on which this part of the island sits. I had visited the Drive-In Volcano. Surely, those baths were boiling. But the path the mineral water took, by the time it reached these mineral baths, reached the perfect temperature. I stood under one run off area: it was the perfect shower, with the perfect temperature and with the perfect massage-level pressure. Then you realized you were in the open, in the rain forest staring into the Pitons. For a while, I didn’t have any thoughts in my mind. It was heaven. It was the best shower I’ve ever had.
We chugged our Piton beers then made our way. I asked Kester to drop me off at Ladera. While we pulled up, I realized a new pain: hunger pain. I scrambled to Dasheene, hoping to squeeze in lunch before they closed. I did. They had a seafood buffet. I asked for their best seat. They sat me with a view facing Petit Piton, the mountain I just conquered. My first plate included the tossed salad, fresh island fruit, macaroni and cheese, roast beef with creole barbecue sauce, and red snapper with a garlic sauce. I sat down at the table. I took a picture.
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| A picture is worth at least a thousand words |
Food after the hike and a view of the mountain I had conquered while I ate the food: magical. I wolfed down the first plate. The second plate I went for red snapper again and added some barracuda. Fresh and delicious. I enjoyed the view for an hour. I powered back numerous drinks. Kester was right; I felt ten years younger. I paid and relocated to the bar, just one level down. These next few hours were a blur. I remember having a few drinks, some lava flows, waters, and Cokes. I never fell asleep. But was at best half conscious. I sat in a chair under the shade, admiring the view and listening to Agaetis Byrjun by Sigur Ros, and faded into a state of heavenly uselessness. Once 5:30 PM rolled around, I snapped back into consciousness so I could snap some more sunset pictures. That occupied my next half hour. I won’t bore you with these details. But this sunset was as good as the previous night. (During this time, Joel and I were texting. He seemed frustrated that he was injured more during his one-block hike from his apartment in New York than I was during my strenuous several-hour journey up Petit Piton.)
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| Another magnificent sunset |
Kester picked me up and took me to my hotel. He told me he’d pick me up at 1:30 PM since he wanted to take me to the airport. I got into my room, changed, and went straight to the dining room. I was hungry yet again. The waitress laughed at me when I ordered something disproportionately large for a person my size. But wen I told her I hiked Petit Piton, she said, “That makes sense.” Later, when she saw me rubbing some mosquito bites, she said, “I’ll get you some limes.” (And quite the home remedy, might I add.) The pumpkin soup was good. The island seafood fritters with dipping source were divine. The roasted chicken with olive and tomato sauce, with sides of string beans, rice, papaya, and eggplant was just what the doctor ordered. Literally.
What an excellent day.
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