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“Could you pull over please?” came an urgent voice from the front passenger seat, rousing the rest of us from a queasy trance. The driver took one look at the face from which the voice came and abruptly swerved to the right into a convenient lay-by. The passenger, sweaty and frantic, leapt out of the stifling van and quickly disappeared into the forest, his face almost as green as the trees surrounding us. We’d been on the road for over an hour, on what can only be described as a tropical mountain roller coaster. Our driver, Jonny - a stoic born and bred St Lucian - was used to the meandering mountain roads that weaved like loose black ribbons carelessly tossed across the island. His precious cargo; three Brits, four Americans and a Canadian, were not. With still another hour to go, and our sickly friend back in tow, we swiftly set off again following the winding road up, down and over luscious mountains, through dense rainforest and alongside endless banana plantations. Jonny made light work of the hairpin turns as we caught quick glimpses of the calm, azure Caribbean Sea on the left, only to round another bend and catch sight of the choppy Atlantic on the right. The view from every window was spectacular, if you managed to wrench your head out from between your legs for long enough, that is. Soon enough our destination appeared suddenly and rather dramatically on the horizon: two immense emerald green peaks rising up side-by-side from the Caribbean Sea - the Pitons. Formed almost a million years ago by volcanic activity, the impressive twin peaks of Gros Piton and Petit Piton are among St Lucia’s most memorable landmarks and can be seen for miles across the island. Our mission that day was to hike the 2,619 ft. to the peak of Gros Piton, the largest of the mountain pair. After enduring one-too-many perilous bends and terrifying near misses with oncoming vehicles, climbing a mountain seemed like a leisurely, albeit muggy, walk in the park. Finally, with popping ears and sweaty palms, we emerged wide-eyed into the charming fishing village of Anse La Raye. Its shabby pastel coloured buildings complemented by a backdrop of the Caribbean; light oranges, yellows and dusty pinks against a deep, dark, silky blue. It was very early on a hot and humid Friday morning but already people were jostling for space on the narrow roads; school kids weaving in and out of traffic laughing and racing to school, fishermen loading their gear onto rusty old pick-up trucks on the side of the road and women wearing clothes in every colour of the rainbow gossiping together in doorways. We slowly made our way through the village, pleased to be off the mountain roads, and followed the increasingly pungent smell of sulphur towards Soufriere, where the Pitons call home. The road to Soufriere from Anse La Raye led us through thick, dark foliage; huge palms flopped over the road, tall evergreens mingled behind them and creeping vines filled in any gaps, all blocking our view of the looming Pitons, and most of the sunlight. Only when we were abruptly dispatched at the base of Gros Piton and handed over to our guides could we really appreciate the sheer, mystical beauty rising above us in all her glory. And so we began our ascent.