Mauritius …impressions

Sometimes it’s easier to write in hindsight, when your view is clearer, and you aren’t still giddy from the swell of it.

Mauritius,

To begin with, the first thing I noticed was how clean you were. How hot and humid the air was. Taking me back to my childhood. To the first time I stepped off a plane onto Hong Kong soil.

You felt exotic. Like potential. Palm trees of every species perched precariously from concrete blocks in well-lined islands of the sterile airport.

You felt like a place where one could walk freely and calmly around brightly-lit areas at night.

Safe.

This was a new feeling, having spent a year back home, in South Africa, where, unbeknownst to the conscious mind, one is always aware of what’s around the corner.

We began our journey at night, through the windy sea-hugging roads in deepest-dream darkness.

We chose to stay in a lesser populated side of the island, having heard and read a lot, and wanting to find morsels of ‘authenticity’, whatever that means, and to feel the island’s beneath.

The things I remember most are:

The Water – the temperature, oh so heavenly, rocking you like a lullaby, as you lay back in shades of turquoise-green. The colours changing so shockingly as the sun dips in and out, and the days turn over and the weather lazily chooses whether it will be cyclonic storms or shady clouds or postcard blues.

The Animals – the wealth of fauna took me back to the seaside town I was born in and flashed memories I’d forgot I knew about, bringing up a nostalgia and childhood longing. The big croaky frogs on the humid steps at twilight greeted us like Faraway Tree creatures, with the childlike feeling that fairies might be peeking out mischievously from a nearby glen. Snails …everywhere. Just like in Hong Kong. So many that we spent the beginning of a before-the-rain evening picking them up off the gravelly, rural roads. Bats. Wide-winged, high-flying, moonlit creatures of the night, swooping across sunsets, and the sea. These are the things that coloured my stay in shades, no, feelings of warm, bright, orangey-pinks.

The Villages and The Community – late night festivals alongside the sea with brightly coloured tents and aromatic spices lingering in the air. Washing, and plants, still in their plastic cases, happily bobbing out of windows and hanging off balconies of paint-peeling primary-coloured houses. And everyone coming out at night. And the lights being off at night. All the houses gone blank, only one or two TV screens, glittering hazy pictures through roughly-curtained windows. And the blockades next to the beach, littered with people soaking up the evening’s rays. And picnics galore, not on the sand, but on the grass, under the umbrella of tall fir trees. And Tupperwares, everywhere, with what looked like hearty curries spooned into them, cooked from scratch, no doubt with sweat and love. And babies, galore. And little children running about. And laughter. And an atmosphere of celebration, every evening, as the sun’s rays crept down the sea.

The Dolphins – One of the most astounding feelings I’ve ever felt was diving into a pod of dolphins as they submerged in a triangular formation, ebbing rhythmically through crystal spheres of light, getting darker and darker as they plummeted into the depths of the sea. I can’t put it into words, but it felt something like being part of the beginning and the end and the in-between… Maybe it was the way they danced in unison …maybe it was the colours… Maybe it was something to do with a primal feeling, in deepest waters. I don’t know. It belittles it, but the closest I can get is… It felt like my heart and soul had overflowed into the sea.