Holiday in Mauritius

Letters from Mauritius

by Alison Westwood, 1 June 2006

While my colleagues sat slaving away in the office, I was drinking rum cocktails, sailing on an ancient wooden yacht and getting hopelessly lost among the sugar cane fields in Mauritius. To make sure everyone knew how much fun I was having, I sent them regular updates. I thought I'd share these letters with you...

Sunday 14 May

Waking up this the morning was wonderful. I was at the Royal Palm Hotel, one of the island's best resort hotels.

From the cool comfort of my emperor-size bed, I could see past my balcony to where green palm fronds waved and whispered against a baby blue sky. I could hear strange sweet birdsong and the soft hiss of gentle waves on a sandy beach. It was a wake up call I wish I could have every day.

After breakfast (I watched people waterski while I ate) I went for a stroll through Grand Baie. Grand Baie is the Mauritian weekend spot, so there was plenty of activity. Mopeds and bicycles whizzed past, buses boomed and hooters were tooted. Groups of men played cards under the casuarinas on the beach.

I met two boys playing football in an alleyway. They laughed at my French and told me Brazil would win the world cup. A group of card players beckoned me over to take their photograph. I ended up drinking rum and coke with them and being given a little coral dodo as a 'cadeau'.

Walking With the Fish

I was having so much fun with my new friends that I lost track of time and had to run all the way back to the hotel to go on an undersea walk. An undersea walk involves donning rubber shoes, a weight belt and a huge helmet into which air is pumped. You are then let down a ramp like an astronaut descending from a space shuttle.

I bumbled around clumsily on the sea bed while the air burbled in my ears. I waved my bit of bread roll at the crowds of greedy dominoes and zebras and parrotfish, and caressed the anemone that was held out to me - then had a slight paranoia attack - would it poison me?

The real danger lurked above the water, however: an amorous young man called Jay Go. Not sure what mental hospital he had recently been released from, but he insisted that he must get to know me extremely well and that I was to spend the whole of Tuesday with him, if not eternity. He'll be waiting for me at 10 on Tuesday morning, on the beach, under a certain tree...

Now we're at another hotel and I'm at the bar. I've already sampled Mauritian beer (there are several local brews, but the most popular is called Phoenix). The barman here also features a different rum cocktail every evening. Tonight it's a Casa Blanca, which is a Pina Colada with grenadine. Must get the recipe.

Monday 15 May

I spent the day driving around in a rented Renault trying very hard not to run over sunbathing dogs and people on smoky scooters or get pushed off the road by buses.

After a few detours, I finally found the Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam Botanical Gardens, better known as le Jardin des Pamplemousses. A guide with teeth like an old rat made sure I looked at all the right plants and learned their uses.

The Power of Plants

Ginger is Mauritian Viagra; cloves can be used for toothache; the bases of bottle palms used to be used as djembe drums. The sausage tree is useful too, but not as shade for a picnic - unless you want to be brained by a 15kg sausage.

I think I was most impressed by the nutmeg, however. I learned that a single male nutmeg tree can pollinate up to 25 female trees, and that a strong man will be dead within one hour of eating a whole nutmeg. If he's not so strong, it will only take 20 minutes before he suffers a fatal heart attack. I bought a few whole nutmegs at the market later.

Then I headed back to Port Louis for a spot of shopping at the Waterfront Mall and the local market. The mall was a nice mall, but we have plenty of those at home, so I soon headed off for the more invigorating and interactive shopping experience offered by the market.

I have learned that if you want to bargain really effectively, you should try going to the market just before it closes. The vendors will know that you're their last customer and will be eager to strike a deal. The downside of this strategy is that you will get stuck in rush hour when you leave Port Louis. For such a small island, Mauritius sure has plenty of traffic.

Tuesday 16 May

Yesterday was kind of crazy.

I was supposed to drive south to see the sights there: the Trou aux Biches in Curepipe, the Chamarel waterfall and coloured earths, and Le Morne peninsula. I managed to get as far as Curepipe without getting lost. For the rest of the day I relied on luck and the hospitality of Mauritians.

My first saviour of the day was called Evelyn. I had driven around every traffic circle in Curepipe at least twice (hope nobody noticed). I pulled up in front of a shop to stop my head spinning and managed to wave my map in a meaningful way at a woman who had also just parked.

Evelyn drove all the way to the Trou aux Cerfs through heavy traffic so that I could follow her. I wondered whether I would help a map-waving gibberish-speaking tourist this way and felt humbled.

I took some photographs of the crater, the view, and an ice-cream van (fantastically painted, they are an added benefit of most tourist attractions in Mauritius). Then I tried to find my way out of Curepipe and into the spectacular wilds of the south.

20 stinky lorries later, I was home free and coasting through rolling fields of bright green sugar cane, under a blue sky with fluffy white clouds, and with the sea plainly visible ahead of me.

Post Office Rendezvous

I was happily singing along to some Gujarati dance music and enjoying the gorgeous scenery when I noticed a cute little post office next to the road with loads of parking - in Mauritius you usually have to park in the middle of the road and cause an impromptu traffic jam.

I did a quick U-turn and went to post the birthday presents I had bought for my mother and sister at the market in Port Louis.

One of the people in the post office was wearing a Man United top and just hanging out having a chat. He introduced himself as Sam and told me he had grown up in this village but now lived in London. With typical Mauritian hospitality, Sam immediately offered to buy me a beer at the local store.

We drank a couple of Phoenix and Sam supervised my purchase of two bottles of the island's best rum. Then he decided to ditch football practice so that he could be my guide for the afternoon.

First we went to La Vanille, which is a sort of zoo with all the different animals found in Mauritius, most of which come from other places. There were thousands of crocodiles and plenty of baby iguanas, turtles, toads, eels, hedgehogs, monkeys and mongooses. There was also an amazing insectarium where I'm sure I saw every beetle and butterfly ever created.

Sam understood that my mission was to take photographs, so our next port of call was some scenery. The local beauty spot, Gris Gris, is a wild and deserted white beach flanked by black volcanic rocks and pounded by fierce waves. We walked on the empty beach and shared marzipan-flavoured soft serve with a stray dog.

Next Sam showed me the Telfair Gardens. Once a lover's garden for the aristocracy, now a lonely but lovely park on the edge of a treacherous ocean. We stared across the sea at the Marine Cemetery where Sam's sister is buried and a lone coconut palm stands sentinel. Then we went to find the Rochester Falls.

Finding the Falls

The Rochester Falls are seldom visited by tourists. I think this might be because taxi drivers and tour guides don't want to destroy their cars by driving on the dirt road through the sugar cane.

When we could go no further and the hand-lettered signs pointing the way had run out, we found a guide waiting for us. He broke some sugar cane for me and squeezed it so I could drink the juice, gave me some ginger flowers to wear in my hair, and led us to the waterfall.

Here, two rather desperate-looking divers offered to jump off the waterfall for cash. I accepted this odd offer and now have a blurry photograph of the event. I was tempted to try it myself, but fortunately I wasn't wearing a swimming costume.

Lost in the Dark

By then it was late and I had to drive the entire length of the island before it got dark. I dropped Sam at the post office and sped off north. By 6pm I was back in Grand Bay and it was dark. By 6.20pm, I had no idea where I was. I drove one way, then the other, turned around again, then gave up and took out my map.

Once more Mauritian hospitality came to my rescue. A car stopped and the driver offered to show me to my hotel - but first I had to agree to go to a party with him later. He was an off-duty policeman, which may explain why he was so keen for company. Policemen are not popular here; there are too many of them.

I'm afraid I didn't go to the party. Instead I spent the evening talking about parachuting and Chinese star signs with Joanne and Pascal, the charming French manager of Legends. Now I need to eat breakfast before I go sailing. I'm sure today will be quite normal.

Thursday 18 May

This will be my last letter from Mauritius. I am sitting at Plaisance airport waiting for our return flight. I have already made quite a splash at the duty-free by dropping one of my bottles of rum in the perfume section.

As predicted, yesterday was perfectly normal, apart from 4 offers of marriage and a day spent on the Isla Mauritia, a 140-year-old sailboat full of Swiss people.

I had a wonderful time. I danced the sega with a handsome sailor, dived off the side of the boat to snorkel and swim, made 20 new friends from all over Switzerland, drank enormous quantities of rum, and sailed home on the nets strung out at the front of the boat.

I have lots of letters to write when I get home. I must write to Sam to let him know I arrived safely, send the lyrics of Sarie Marais, a South African favourite, to Danny the pirate guitarist, and email Rene and Verena, a lovely couple from Lucerne, the photographs of Verena on the bowsprit with me.

I think that's the only drawback to a holiday in Mauritius. It leads to far too much letter-writing.

Article © Copyright 2006 Go2Africa.

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