Mount Karthala

Mount Karthala is the volcano that is most of Grande Comore: two thousand three hundred and sixty-one metres of shield rising straight out of the Mozambique Channel above Moroni, one of the largest active volcanoes on Earth, with a summit caldera three kilometres by four whose floor holds the Chahalé crater and whose walls hold the cloud, and a record — eruptions in 2005, twice, in 2006 and in 2007, and in 1977 a flow that ran down through the village of Singani to the sea — that keeps the island watching. Its slopes are the Comoros' wealth and scent: the rainforest, the ylang-ylang whose flowers go to the perfumers of Grasse, the vanilla and the cloves; its foot is Moroni, the capital, with the Friday Mosque of 1427 on the harbour, the medina of white walls and carved doors, and the port where the dhows come from the other islands; up the coast is Itsandra's beach and the airport at Hahaya, down the coast Iconi, the old capital under its cliffs, and around the east side the beaches of Chomoni and Bouni. Off the island's steep shore, in the deep, lives the coelacanth, the fish that was thought extinct until a fisherman here brought one up.

The traveller flies into Hahaya, sleeps in Moroni or on Itsandra beach, and arranges the climb through a guide, because the volcano is climbed with one: the road up to Mvouni or round to Boboni, the six to eight hours through the plantations and then the forest and then the heather to the rim, the tent or the hut at the top and the night in the cold with the caldera below going in and out of the cloud, the dawn if the weather gives it, and the long walk down on the second day; the rest of the visit is the island — the medina and the mosque of Moroni at the hour of prayer, the fish grilled at the port, Iconi's cliffs and the story of its women, an afternoon at Chomoni, and, with days, the ferry or the plane to Mohéli for the whales and the turtles, or to Anjouan for the perfume valleys.

The Guide's practical counsel, honestly: the Comoros run at island tempo on simple infrastructure — cash is king, schedules are suggestions, the electricity comes and goes, and the visa is bought at the airport —; the volcano is a serious climb, not a walk, done with a guide, water for two days and warm clothes for the rim, and it is watched, so the traveller checks it is quiet before going up; the sea between the islands is crossed by plane where possible, because the boats are what they are; the islands are Muslim, warm and modest, and the traveller dresses so; and the view at dawn from the rim, with the caldera smoking below and the whole island and its two sisters laid out on the blue, is a wonder that a few hundred people a year receive, which is why the Guide keeps this page in the light it deserves.