Killvan’s Reunion Universalle

It’s rich sweet love between the moon and this deep turquoise sea of the Indian. You tell me that exists out there somewhere, perhaps far out beyond the land of the West where few seldom go?

Well it does be real, and it is not unknown, but only if you had ventured yourself you find long spinning left hand reef breaks and a spice unlike no other. Perhaps this surf adventure should be shared with a chosen other to ensure it to be real, if you do decide to follow such a path like this tale here, if you journey beyond where the ocean meets the sea, and do go further into the great Western than anyone you thought you knew has, you too will know it to be true … but only if you return.

Let this be a warning, enjoy this here coming treasure, and soak in the tales, yet know this mysterious surf adventure be this way for good reason.

Introducing Jay Killvan’s Reunion Island, via a short film and some words that explore a volcanic island surrounded by a surfing sea…


Some things are exactly the same no matter where you are. Yes, Bourbon Island is mysterious enough to make you feel as if you’re far, far from home, yet there are routines and elements like any place that determine the course of the day and the mood of the people, just like home.

The mornings are fresh, people grab coffees and the birds sing at the break of dawn. Queues form at the doors of local bakeries serving fresh comfort baguettes, fruit shop workers cart out colourful produce, the church is alive with light prayer and the early offshore flicks the switch to surf excitement. Surfers hammer their wips to favourite vistas to survey the day’s offerings. With froth spilling from their mouths they infiltrate line-ups the island over. Ceci est universelle.

As the sun jacks itself high over the sugar cane fields, shifting the spectrum of the sea from a haunting navy to an electric turq, the early crew retreat and the late morning crew move on in. Oily waves spill across reefs ridden in haste by surfers eager to get their score before the onshore. The midday heat tunes the early afternoon, late lunches, market stalls and boardwalk strolls. With the diversity in cultures comes afternoon tea in a variety of aromas and flavours, yet the ritual is common, the effort easy to fit right in.

The afternoon in St Pierre seeds a youthful vibe, and on every corner hip cats, peak caps and bandana fashionistas occupy dedicated corners by the beach. The girls taunt the boys by the ice-cream parlour and the elderly seek refuge from wild teens. By late afternoon the urban landscape is a theatre for a parkour pack, concrete railings serve as obstacles for freestyle BMX hoods, the skate park is alive and the onshore wind ruffles the canvas for relaxed surfers battling typical afternoon conditions. An orchestra of sub cultures exists as it does in any town with a pulse, it’s just you don’t know anyone by name.

A day worn out, flashes of Déjà vu mix in with an ale induced buzz, the evening is on it’s way. Pizza lights blink and hoodies are thrown on, puzzle pieces come together and it’s feeling good to be yourself, knowing you fit the groove, living as if you’re at home. Perhaps you are out here on the volcano in the Indian. Ceci est universelle.

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