Piton de la Fournaise, on the French island of Réunion in the Indian Ocean, has erupted more than 150 times since the 1600s, and between eruptions you can walk out across it. The road up leaves the green farmland and crosses the Plaine des Sables, a floor of rust-red volcanic sand with a single dirt track over it, then stops at a balcony on the caldera rim. From there a steep metal staircase drops you down the cliff onto the caldera floor, and the whole green island disappears behind the wall. Ahead is a plain of hardened black lava running kilometres toward the summit cones, coiled and folded where it set. Splashes of paint on the rock are the only markers. From the middle, the staircase you came down is a thread on the far wall. Formica Leo sits alone out there, a small scoria cone from an eighteenth-century eruption, ten minutes to the rim, with a twin crater below you tinted red and ochre. It is named after the ant-lion larva, which digs a funnel-shaped pit in sand to trap ants.
Further on is Dolomieu, the summit crater, whose floor dropped more than 300 metres in a single collapse in 2007. Sulphurous steam still leaks from cracks around the edge, and the walls fall away into a pit too wide to take in at once. Réunion is really two volcanoes stacked on the seabed, and this is the young one, still rising. It wakes roughly once a year on no calendar, and when it does the trails shut and the whole thing moves outside. Lava fountains and glowing rivers burn orange against the dark, and on the eastern flank the flows run down the Grand Brûlé, cross the coastal highway and pour into the sea, cooling into new black rock at the island's edge. That road has been buried and rebuilt again and again. Islanders do not treat any of this as a disaster: they drive up, park along the mountain roads with their families, and wait for the ground to catch fire.