Part 11: 31st March – Flic en Flac – Again!

Part 11: 31^st March – Flic en Flac – Again

Friday 31^st March

A "beachy" sort of day today, I think.

So the last day of the month has finally come around. It’s incredible to think that March was already well-underway when I left home. It seems so long ago. It’s not that I am not enjoying it here. I most definitely am. It’s more part of that weird metaphysics I mentioned, which apart from buses, flies, rice, pasta and hawkers, applies also to time itself when you are away from home.

It’s another unanticipated “free day”, owing to the usual shenanigans in France. So what to do? I know. NOTHING. I will stay here, read, buy a few provisions, have a swim, maybe contemplate the origins of the Universe etc. One thing I cannot, for the life of me face up to, is the thought of doing any “real” work. You know, like writing a few lines of a research paper, or doing some theoretical calculations in fibre physics. This is not the place for it, I have decided. God (or maybe Shiva) did not place Mauritius right here in the middle of the Indian Ocean for that purpose. I’m finally resigned to that fact!

Of course, having said all this, I do seem to be spending inordinate amounts of time typing! Never mind; it is actually quite fun – and hopefully in due course it will give the grandchildren endless hours of entertainment (not to mention unmitigated embarrassment!)

I still haven’t heard any “proper live” Séga yet. I had hoped that some would spontaneously start up on the beach yesterday with all the picnicking families, but it didn’t. Maybe they waited till the “Phantom of the Party” had left.

That reminds me: you recall how I have been blaming my early nights for not having encountered any late-night revelling? Well according to my sources Mauritians call it a night quite early too, so the chances are I haven’t been missing anything very much.

Well it is now coming up to 10 am. Time to do some shopping. I noticed, in passing, that the pool water has a distinctly lurid greenish-yellow tinge. I think I’ll settle for the Indian Ocean again for today’s swim.

Earlier this morning my mobile rang. Confidently expecting it to be Dharma, Souda or possibly “Casa Pizza”, I answered it. A female voice said “hello” a couple of times then rang off. A wrong number I suppose. Hmm, wonder if she’ll ring back? Only joking!

My extravagant lifestyle continues: lunch today will be Chéz moi, tout seul; Jus de Mangue, Doux Bleu avec Pain (hamburger bun) et Nutella; et, peutêtre, “café de Chamarel” moulu (locally-grown filter coffee). Oui! Je pense qu’ils serent trés magnifíques.

I’ve just been looking through my drawers, so to speak. D’you know, I’d swear I brought more pairs of undies. Can’t believe anyone would nick them off the clothes horse thingy (that lives just outside under the porch); they’d need to be pretty desperate!

Ach, just another local illusion I guess.

Went down to the beach for my promised swim. Hadn’t been out of the water for more than two minutes when hawker No. 3 (or is it 4 now?) spotted me in his telescopic sights. Oh bloody hell, here we go again! This time I can’t be bothered pretending I don’t speak any language. Instead, I very cunningly pointed out that I regretfully had no money on me. That seemed to do the trick perfectly! Why didn’t I think of it before? In fact, why didn’t he realise that I would have had to be stark raving bonkers to bring money with me for a swim in the ocean? On the other hand, I am a “touroid”, and as such, of lower mental capacity than normal human beings.

On the way back through the complex, looking forward eagerly to a nice refreshing shower to remove all the sticky sun-cream and salt deposits, when I get diverted by the couple from “daahn saaff” I have met on several previous occasions. They are sitting in the shade of their porch.

Blimey, if anyone can talk for England he certainly can. I’m somewhat agitated lest I should be too late for dinner! We (well chiefly he) talk of many things: textiles, “The Japs”, Bali, The Sudan … At least I think we do. The trouble is he has left his dentures soaking in a glass somewhere, and so his speech is marginally less comprehensible than if he’d been talking Créole. Never mind, because his wife speaks clearly enough; except she rarely gets an opportunity. (Now the traditionalists amongst you – OK, chauvinists – may have detected a slight role reversal here).

He’s one of these “career-tanning” Brits. You know the type: determined to achieve one shade darker than that of any local resident. He’s made an impressive job of it too. Sitting there in his shorts with no top, he glows with a rich, deep chestnut hue. It almost looks too good. You know? Artificial – as though he perhaps slips out of it each night before stepping into his jim-jams.

Only the British can do this. Actually I think it is only the English. It must be something to do with mad dogs etc. I’m just thinking how prematurely aged his skin looks when he proudly announces that he is 86 years old! I am genuinely amazed. OK his complexion is not in its first flush of youth, but he is remarkably sprightly. I think this turns yet another “experts’” theory on its head: along with red wine, we should clearly all cram in a hefty daily dose of UV.

His wife also sports a tan, though hers is more subdued, and slightly on the reddish side. She appears to be wearing a pair of those strange eye-shades that they kindly provide you with on long-haul flights in an effort to convince you that provided you think it is dark you will get a sound night’s sleep with your knees jammed under your chin, a crick in your neck and someone excusing themselves to squeeze past you en route to the toilet every ten minutes; and of course the movie sound-track which you are dimly aware of but which, because it is emanating from the guy across the aisle’s ear-pieces, you can’t actually decipher. That sort of eye shades. But hang on. Aren’t they normally silvery-grey in colour? These are distinctly white, or at least flesh-coloured. It then dawns on me that she had been wearing shades. Whilst she was asleep on the beach earlier. So they work there, then.

I manage to extricate myself ever so politely, and take that long-awaited shower.

And now I’m down at my favourite haunt, “Casa Pizza”. Well I had to. After the cancellation of today’s trip I need to be sure that it is on for tomorrow. I’m relieved to find that it is. My guide will be one of their people named “Jan”. I’m curious to see what nationality he turns out to be.

A touch of atmosphere down at "Casa Pizza"

I had the usual beverages (well two beers, actually) and the “Pizza Paul & Virginie”. This is the one featuring smoked marlin. I’d quite forgotten how good it is. In fact, I am so impressed I ask the waiter to pass my compliments to the chef. (I’ve always wanted to do that, but thought it only ever happened in movies). I am being totally serious here, though. Their pizzas are without doubt amongst the best I have ever had – and that includes in Italy. Goodness knows how they achieve it.

I can hear the unmistakable strains of an electric piano, playing some sort of jazz, drifting over from “The Kenzibar”. Mixed in with CP’s “You Say it Better….” etc, it creates a bizarre, surreal effect. CP is fine, but they only have two CDs which they play repeatedly all evening - every evening. All the songs are of the same ilk, and you’d recognise them all. Songs with lyrics like “Iiiiiiiieeeeeiii - will always love youooooooo (yodel) oooo”. If I were to be entirely honest, I’d have to say they are all a bit on the maudlin side. When you are on your own a good old knees-uppy sort of tune is what you need. Something jolly. If they were to play something a bit jollier maybe they would fill their tables up rather more rapidly. The waiter enjoys it though. He’s usually whistling or humming along to it. Nice lad. He’s the one who is so keen to ply me with rum before I’ve even asked.

Ah well, enough for one day. Tomorrow could be long and tiring if, as I hope, I finally get to see the botanical gardens at Pamplemousses.

Part 10: 30th March – Ougadi day; Flic en Flac; Tamarin; Black River

Thursday 30^th March

A day for family picnics on the sand

Today is the festival of “Ougadi” – the Telegu New Year. So it is a public holiday. Funny, it actually does feel like a Sunday. I thought that strange phenomenon only occurred at home. I mean come on, I have to be honest – it’s not as though I’m exactly being over-worked here; so technically most days ought to seem like Sunday. But they don’t, for some reason.

Today is different, and I can’t put my finger on why. It certainly is quieter this morning (except for the birds of course). But the maids are still calling in at neighbouring properties to clean. And the building contractors seem to have ignored the fact that it is a holiday as well, because many of them are still out there plastering away on the surrounding developments. There is no heavy machinery in operation today, however, which might account for it.

I think I mentioned in a previous missive that the pace of building development here is alarming. I have been here less than three weeks, and I don’t recall there having been anything vaguely resembling a villa on this particular site when I arr
ived:

Nor is it alone. Everywhere you look you see them rising from the ashes of the vegetation which, presumably only weeks before, they burned off with herbicide.

I suppose “The Lord God Tourism” is more powerful than even Shiva himself. But one mustn’t become bitter and twisted. They have to earn an income, and with textiles looking likely to meet the same fate as sugarcane, it is rapidly becoming their best hope – next to establishing themselves as the global cyber-capital, that is.

And after all, I am quite content to be accommodated in this swish modern complex, so I am in no position to criticise them. In early 2003 this apartment would no doubt have looked very much as the one shown above. I just hope they don’t overdo it, so killing another golden goose in the process.

Since it is a holiday (well, it is!) I decided to catch up on some reading during the morning. I’m currently at Pete McCarthy’s account of his visit to Montserrat in his search to unravel his Anglo-Irish roots. It struck me, from his description of life on that small (even smaller than Mauritius) island, that Montserratians and Mauritians - especially the Créoles - have much in common. Both cultures are mixed, and both cultures grew out of slavery. What I hadn’t appreciated was how strong the Irish influence is in Montserrat. The Irish were themselves there as deportees from their homeland which, of course, was under British rule at the time – as Montserrat still is; and although marginally above the African population in status, they were themselves slaves to the British authorities. And both groups of people were put to work - under the fierce tropical sun - in the sugar plantations. Now there is a very definite parallel between the two countries. Nowadays, it seems a sizable section of the mixed community of Montserrat is more Irish than the Irish. Did you know, for example, that Montserrat is the only country apart from Ireland where St Patrick’s Day is a public holiday? Or that they stamp your passport with a green shamrock? But we’re meant to be discussing Mauritius, are we not? Yes we are, but when PMcC described the characters he had met, the pace of life, the ambience, the vegetation and the climate, it all rang true for me here. One significant difference between the two countries, however, stems from a most devastating pyroclastic volcanic eruption which struck Montserrat not many years ago (when Clare Short was minister responsible for providing disaster aid, in fact); an eruption which obliterated almost half the island and wiped several towns off the map, burying them in mud and volcanic ash. This was a disaster from which the country is still barely recovering[1]. A large percentage of the population emigrated as a result – ironically, most of them to Ireland and the UK. Mauritius, too is volcanic, though mercifully not actively so (unlike neighbouring Réunion).

I am just thinking how one could get used to being here long-term

when I come across a passage in which PMcC meets Richard, a recently-retired primary school teacher. Richard had “… jacked it in a couple of years ago, jaded by the new management and logo and mission-statement culture.” Sound familiar? A little later on, Richard “… keeps [PMcC] entertained with terrifying tales of life as a primary teacher once management mania and its theories and jargon and best practice bollocks descended on the profession. He was drinking a bottle of whisky a week, and gave up the day he left teaching.”

Then Richard describes the staff meetings: “’They were awful events. Like something out of Kafka.’”

Bear in mind that PMcC’s book was first published in 2002. So there has been a further four years in which the management-driven globalisation-brand-marketing-obsessed culture has had chance to strengthen its strangle-hold on UK education – at all levels. And that’s even before thinking about Offsted, QAA and their fellow-conspirators. I’d much rather not, lest it causes me to burst a blood vessel. I am only glad to be free of the insanity for a few months. I really do feel for you who have been left behind. And that is not a flippant comment, but heartfelt.

You must forgive me. I fear allowances have to be made. Isolation can do strange things to one’s sense of proportion. Not having anyone to discuss these issues with in the main, one finds that tiny germs of ideas tend to grow into grotesque and irrational thoughts that sometimes seem to take on a life of their own. It’s irrational, I know, but it becomes vital – crucial – to record them before they vanish off into the ether again.

But enough! I shake myself out of my reverie and decide to saunter down town to see what, if anything, presents itself in the way of a lunch-possibility (today being, as mentioned, a public holiday). I needn’t have worried. Not only is the Spar open and doing great business, thank you very much, but Flic en Flac is seething with day-trippers - as of course I should have anticipated. Still, lunch at “Ah Youn” is a distinct possibility as there are a few remaining tables.

Not a very informative shot, this, but at least it gives you some idea of how the place looks:

A view from within "Ah Youn" restaurant

Just outside, to the right, is the coastal road. Across that and you are into a fringe of filao trees some hundred metres wide leading straight onto the beach.

I took a beer, a huge plate of Mi Foon Frit with chicken and eggs, and an espresso. The lot came to Rs185 (about £3.50), so I had no qualms in rounding it up to Rs200!

Then who should turn up, but my old chum:

Source of all the unseasonable (and unreasonable) "Jingle Bells"!

Not content to remind me that it is, despite all appearance to the contrary, Christmas, he did me the very special favour of parking – as you can see – within handy ear-splitting distance.

However, I would appear not to be alone in thinking he must be merely some bizarre creation of my tortured brain, because nobody but nobody buys one, and he’s off again. Just as well: my lunch is now on the table and I would hate to have to walk away without having eaten it!

There is a fly bothering me. Just the one. While 99.999% of the fly population of Mauritius is content to ignore me, why do I have to get the odd-ball? The maverick; the free-thinker who wishes to be distinguished from the crowd. This is a persistent little devil who is determined not to take “no” for an answer. It is very nearly more annoying than there being a whole swarm of them. It puts me in mind of the “rice-pasta-weatabix” anomaly. You know the one: irrespective of how much, or how little, rice or pasta you cook, there is always one grain or one piece of coccinella adhering to the bottom of the pan as though its life depended on it. Just the one. (And the weatabix? Oh, that’s a slightly different phenomenon which I won’t go into now). Could all this possibly be an extension of the laws of metaphysics obeyed by Mauritian buses, I wonder?

Ah well. Lunch finished I take a stroll on the beach. It being Ougadi there are families everywhere enjoying the fine weather and a picnic. It is at times like this that one feels particularly conspicuous as a lone tourist. It makes me even more acutely aware that I must look like a saddo – or even worse, a stalker? After all, I am toting a camera. I decide to leave the beach to the revellers. I will have it more or less to myself on plenty of other occasions.

I’m just about to set off homewards again when I am pestered by the same hawker who tried to get me on one of my first days here. Why, when 99.999% of the population of the beach are quite content to ignore me, do I get the odd-ball? The maverick; Just like the pesky fly, he is being a persistent little parasite. I eventually shake him off by not admitting to speaking any know language.

I make a mental note though: must step up production of rich ebony tan. Here is one situation where my follical prowess and distinctly grey beard could really help: he will never suspect I’m naturally blond; and if I walk around with my eyes shut he won’t see the colour of my irises either. (Blue, incidentally).

Back “home”, now, and I am getting all this down for posterity when the phone rings. (It always gives me a shock, that. Somehow I never expect it to happen.) It’s Mr Ravin, the owner of the apartment. He is free for an hour or two and asks would l like to go for a drive somewhere? WOULD I! Someone to talk to! Thank god!

When he arrives we discuss arrangements for settling the bill at the end of our stay: there will be no need for us to vacate the apartment until we choose to. He can come here at say 2.00 pm.

He also showed me some typical phone bills to put my mind at rest with regard to the internet-connection charges. I will go with my original estimate, and any adjustments can be made once the final bill arrives. I suggested that might be facilitated via Dharma if it would make life easier for him.

And so we set off on our mini-tour. Mr Ravin is a more sedate driver by far than any I have encountered here previously. I think we may safely put this down to the fact that the vehicle we are travelling in actually belongs to him, unlike those of the university- and bus-drivers. He is very good company and we discuss all sorts of things, including languages. Mauritius really is an odd place in that respect. People will tend to mix Créole, English, “standard” French and Hindi on a random basis. Tamil, Urdu, Mandarin and one or two other languages are also used, as appropriate.

As if to emphasis this, a traffic sign warning of “Heavy Vehicules”

flashes past. We both agree on the importance of learning other languages. It opens up so many doors. I wondered whether it would be good for national identity if Créole were to be raised to the status of an official language. Currently it exists almost exclusively as a spoken tongue, although moves are afoot to develop it in written form. He doesn’t believe this would be a good idea, and I can take his point: there are only a few million Mauritians - a handful in global terms. Créole would lack the international recognition needed to ensure Mauritius’ economic future. English and French must be retained as the main languages for this reason. At this point I explained to him about Cornish!

We had a very pleasant drive down to Tamarin and Black River, where we saw some extremely beautiful, more secluded beaches. He also showed me the Martello Tower which is in the process of being refurbished and soon to be opened as a tourist attraction; and the Black River estuary, from where many of the deep-sea fishing trips embark:

The Black River Estuary

The Black River derives its name from the deposits it carries down from the central mountains, and which are clearly visible as dark streaks on the lighter coloured sand. This is almost certainly volcanic material.

As we walked along I noticed (you can’t miss it!) that all the filaos along the shore had their roots exposed. I mean seriously exposed:

Exposed filao roots along the shoreline of the Black River estuary

According to Mr Ravin, until as recently as last year the shore level had been approximately at the height where you see the upturned boat (above). Higher-than-usual tides over the past year or so seem to have been responsible for this under-cutting erosion. We agreed that if global warming is to lead to rising sea levels, then it is not going to wait around for 20-30 years to manifest itself. It must surely be happening already fuelled, possibly, by the fast-disappearing glaciers and collapsing ice-shelves we keep hearing of. So is this an early tangible sign of climate change affecting Mauritius? The exposed-roots feature is certainly not confined to this particular location. I had already observed it all along the Flic en Flac beachside. That area is also oddly strewn with white coral debris, as though fragments have been torn from the reef and dumped there. It is quite far from the high-water line, there being some ten metres of scrubby grass between the two areas. One possibility that occurred to me was the influence of the Boxing Day 2005 Tsunami. That certainly affected Madagascar and Tanzania, and so it is a possibility.

It was almost sunset, and as it was a clear sky I mentioned the fabled “green flash” theory to Mr Ravin. He had not heard of it, but as we watched I am almost - but not quite – convinced that I saw a hint of green just as the last of the disc was disappearing below the horizon. This “did-I-see-it-or-did-I-not?” uncertainty appears also to have afflicted my old literary “companion” Pete McCarthy when he tried to ascertain its existence in Montserrat. Interestingly, in his account, the Montserratians claim it to be unique to their island, which is also known as the “Other Emerald Isle”. Green, you see. Like Mauritius. And nine-parts Irish.

Now, wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to watch sunsets like these any time we wanted:

Sunset at the Black River estuary

Dinner tonight is bound to be something of an anticlimax after that.

Dinner would have to be at “Casa Pizza” again of course, because I needed to know what would be happening with regard to my excursions. It seems that “Angelina” (I hadn’t known her name when we made the arrangements the other evening) had sent me an email to say there was a problem for tomorrow (Friday). This was in some way connected with the national strike in France. Because of all the flight delays a large group of guests would be arriving together, so they are likely to be very busy. No matter though, because we can go on Saturday instead. It’s all the same to me of course!

I wondered about the email. Back here later, I wasn’t able to connect to BT Internet through Outlook Express to check. I also received a sniffy error message indicating that my network administrator had most likely disabled chat on Gmail. I was extremely put out by this because being here alone I find the ability to communicate directly to be one of the most useful features of having an internet connection. I wonder if it has anything to do with the International call charges the telephone companies are missing out on? Oh, surely not!

Dinner, by the way, was a bit different tonight: chicken kebabs with peri-peri (spicy) sauce. But what really impressed and delighted me was that the waiter brought me – entirely unbidden – my usual Rhum Arangé!

Woah, it’s already midnight. Bon nuit.

---

[1] In response to requests for further desperately-needed aid, the UK Minister for Overseas Aid at the time is quoted as saying “They’ll be asking for golden elephants next”. This makes me so proud to be British.

Part 9: 29th March – Quatre Bornes

Wednesday 29^th March

Quatre Bornes. The main high street.

I went to Quatre Bornes today by bus. If cosmologists are still looking for evidence that quantum physics applies both to microscopic and macroscopic worlds they would find living proof of it here. At any given instant, buses in Mauritius exist in one of three quantum states:

1. Stopped;

2. Break-neck;

3. Positively Suicidal.

Intermediate states are no permitted, and transitions between the three occur instantaneously. The lowest-energy, or “ground”, state corresponds with that having the highest entropy, or maximum probability of occurring spontaneously. You may be surprised to learn that this is in fact State-3. The highest-energy, and thus least-populated, state is State-1.

State-3 is triggered when one quantum “particle” (ie bus) senses its quantum twin (another bus approaching from the opposite direction) about to enter State-3. This constitutes, in effect, a kind of “quantum entanglement” characterised by both twins being simultaneously in the act of overtaking a lesser “particle” (ie any other vehicle) at a closing velocity corresponding to that of State-2 multiplied by two.

Many of the roads around here feature what would be gentle undulations - at near-sane velocities. The frequent (about one per 100m) presence of traffic-calming devices, otherwise known as “speed humps” (and therefore regarded by drivers as an open invitation) adds tremendously to the exhilaration and adrenaline-pumping nature of the ride.

We orbited one roundabout at such a lick I was convinced the bloody thing would keel over. And to think that these veterans were (by all appearances at any rate) built at the same time the laws of quantum mechanics themselves were being formulated.

The buses also obey the laws of meta-physics, incidentally. In this universe it is not the speed of light that is constant, but the journey-time between any two given locations on the island. To me this is a paradox in more than one sense. No two places can be more than about 50 miles apart. In fact, the distance between Flic en Flac to Quatre Bornes is, I would guess, about 10km; yet it still takes the best part of an hour. How can this be, given that we almost always occupy quantum states 2 & 3?

According to LPG, the bus drivers on Mauritius “… harbour Formula One racing fantasies.” Who am I to argue?

Despite all this, we arrive in QB intact. It’s early-to-mid-morning

(you’ve got to remember I’ve been up since dark), and the sun is shining, etc, etc.

I step off the bus and “Taxi, Monsieur?” WHAT IS THIS WITH TAXIS? If I could afford a taxi why in heaven’s name would I have just arrived by bus? Hmm?

I spotted the Orchard Centre just before we pulled in at the bus station, so it was practically no distance at all. The OC is a little like a Mauritian Arndale Centre but without the public-toilet-style cladding; and altogether more up-market.

I was advised by Mme Casa Pizza to locate “Infokeens”. This is a telecom/IT outfit, and I should be able to purchase a SIM card there. Despite the “Closed” sign on the (shut) door I was waved in. They didn’t have any. But they very kindly directed me to the neighbouring “Mauritel” place. There was a “Closed” sign on the (shut) door. I was waved in. What’s with all this, I wonder? It’s a

tropical country. Surely all businesses are open and bustling before the sun comes up? Anyway, the good news is they have one. So now I am “en-mobiled” for Mauritius. That will make life a whole lot easier in all sorts of ways, I can tell you.

Today is fruit ‘n’ veg market day in QB.

From the main street it looks relatively small. It isn’t. It extends back for many hundreds of metres. They sell everything you can imagine there. As well as a few things you’d probably rather not. (I don’t think I ever actually caught wind of a durian. I’m not sure I’d recognise one even if I saw it.)

As a token gesture I decided to buy some Chinese guavas. Yes, I know, Pravin & I picked loads of them from the roadside on Sunday. But they returned in his car to the university for all I know. I think he’d meant to give the bag to me but we both forgot. Not to fret, because these ones in the market are cheap enough. The lady offered to put “salt” on them for me. I said I’d take them home and put them in the fridge, so she placed a little pile of this substance in a piece of paper for me to take with me.

I walked around QB for a while before boarding a bus back to FeF.

Now here’s a little test: which side of the bus do you think the sun will be shining on?

On the way back I was frequently reminded of how unintentionally (one assumes) amusing other cultures can be. I caught my favourite landmark on camera, just to prove to you I didn’t make it up before:

And then, a little further on, one I had completely missed previously:

Quite apart from the mis-spelling, the mind boggles!

We make it back OK, and again I’m amazed. Different driver. Same tendencies.

After lunch (the last of the Fromage Roux with – to be different – a hamburger bun), I tried a few of the guavas. First without the “salt”. They are quite tart, and not unlike strawberries in flavour. Then I tried one with. The mixture does indeed contain salt. What the vendor didn’t mention was the pepper and chilli powder! An interesting experience. Perhaps not one to be repeated, however.

Well it is still a nice day and, at just after 3 pm, still plenty of time for a swim. Went to the beach for it. With goggles on I could make out a few small fish. Afterwards, I sat on my towel for my first serious sunbathe of the trip. (OK, so it was already gone 5 pm, but I have delicate skin). There were some of those very entertaining little crabs that sidle ever so gingerly, keeping their beady eyes-on-stalks trained on you. As soon as they think you’re not looking: “plop!” they disappear into a neat hole in the sand that I swear wasn’t there two seconds earlier.

Ran out of mosquito spray again, so decided to buy some more, as well as a replacement bulb for one that popped yesterday, on my way to dinner.

I bumped into the family with the oriental girl. The ones that had sat at the next table last night. We had a brief chat. I was right – her husband is working here, and has been for a few monthe. She and the girl just arrived yesterday so have to get accustomed to the heat. I was also right about another thing: they are from Glasgow. Mum had been badly bitten last evening at “Casa Pizza” so had been to the pharmacy for some remedies. It is uncanny, but I can’t suppress the feeling that we have met somewhere before – and not just last night. If I see them again, which is quite likely, I may voice my curiosity.

For a total change I went back to the Bois Noir this evening. Had Rhum Arrangé with bits in. The first one like that. One of my email correspondents reckons I will have drunk the island dry of rum by the time I leave. Well, I can always have a damned good try!

Main course was fish in ginger with plain boiled rice and for dessert “Bananes Flambées” – and there were actually two this time. Espresso to finish.

That’s about it for today. Apart from the fact that I already have some text messages. Replies to ones I’d sent earlier. So the mobile is working fine. (And before you ask: no, it is not set for the Nokia Tune!).

Part 8: 27th & 28th March – Washing Day & University

Monday 27^th March

It’s washing day today. No, really. A good day for it, too. Bright, sunny ... blah, blah.

Despite the extreme precautions I’m taking, I’m a bit annoyed to discover a bite on one arm. It’s not a bad one, but I can’t believe it happened. Also, both arms are beginning to flake somewhat. But I put that down to my lapse of memory the day I visited Port Louis.

I was rather disturbed, too, to find more little rodent-manufactured “calling cards” on the floor this morning – including one next to my bed (yuk!!). I very much regret not taking the Indian-Irish family seriously now. I will endeavour, this morning, to locate a suitable deterrent at the good-old Spar. Of course, that also involves running the gauntlet with the security guard. With luck it will be one of the others on duty today and hopefully by next time we meet his problem will have been sorted out, or else forgotten about

I’ve just been out shopping. The guard was his usual cheery self – no mention of yesterday’s conversation about money-lending. Strange, or what?

I didn’t get anything for rats. All they had was some Chinese concoction that deals with them “humanely” and “hygienically” by first blinding them so they run outside desperate to find light, and then doing them in. Much as I dislike the idea of tiny footsteps roaming around the house – or over me while I try to sleep - I can’t bear to think of that happening to them. As far as I know they, like most of the other wildlife here, are harmless enough. I suppose you could think of them as large field mice. Not your plague-carrying sewer rats. Anyway, we’ll just have to see how things go.

I also called in at “Casa Pizza” and discussed some excursions, so that is now underway. It is important that things are set up in time for Caroline & Pete arriving, as they have only one week in which to cram the Mauritian experience!

There are lots of tree-prunings – some very large – scattered on the sides of the road into the village. Yesterday I saw a gang of workers armed with chain saws butchering one fine old specimen. As we were returning from our tour yesterday I commented on it to Pravin, assuming he would say they always prune the trees at this time of year. No. Apparently it is one more special measure aimed at tackling this mosquito pest.

Another thing strikes me on nearing my abode. When I first arrived here there were several new villas in the very early stages of construction. Now, after a little over two weeks, it seems to me that many of them are already getting close to completion. That rate of progress is astounding; and rather alarming. How long will it be before there is no greenery left in FeF and surrounds? Still that’d bring one bonus, I guess: no greenery = no mosquitoes.

It’s turning out to be an “at-home” day again today. After yesterday that suits me. Besides, I have some ironing to do yet. Tomorrow I may be visiting the British Council, so I’ll need to be reasonably smart (not to mention hot, sticky and sweaty). All the same, I should be able to fit in a wander down the beach for a bit of a paddle later!

There may well be NO photos from today – oh, I tell a lie. Maybe just two: I returned from the shops to find “Gordon”’s little lad on the side of the breakfast bar. His name is “Graham”, I believe:

And meet his twin sister, “Gladys”:

Not very big, is she? There is a gecko there – honest! I’m getting quite fond of them now. Some people keep them as pets, so I suppose looked at that way, it ain’t too bad.

Didn’t do much at all this afternoon except read. When I finally wandered down to the beach it was in longs. And I got caught by some sharp showers.

Mme at “Casa Pizza” had hinted that if I were to call back this evening she may be able to let me know details of price etc for the two excursions I asked her to book. I didn’t really want to eat there yet again so soon, so decided I’d have an early dinner at “The Sea Breeze” then pop into “Casa Pizza” for a beer and enquire after progress.

Dinner consisted of a Green Island rum (with ice and lemon), duck in five spices, green vegetables in garlic and plain boiled rice. Nothing else.

Now here’s a thing: at one time, the depths of bad taste in music was epitomised by such classics as “Tie a Yellow Ribbon (Round the Old Oak Tree)”, “Y Viva L’Espagna”, “Throw a Chicken in the Air” (or was it “Agadoo” by “Agadoo”?) and anything by Tom Jones. Not now though. Now, it’s “Da-da dum-dum, da-da dum-dum, da-da dum-dum deeeeeee”. Why so many users stick with the default “Nokia Tune” is a complete mystery to me. [Incidentally, did you know that it is a passage from a famous classical concerto for Spanish Guitar? Its composer must surely be turning in his grave. Unless of course he’s posthumously raking in the royalties!] You see it in crowded places like airport departure lounges all the time, don’t you? Someone’s fires up. Aah, but whose is it? Two dozen pairs of hands suddenly begin frantically rummaging in their owners’ hand-luggage. And the one who wins the lucky dip then feels it essential to let the entire airport know. He (usually - could be she) might as well borrow the Flight Information Person’s PA microphone: “Bing-Bong…! No – I’m NOT on the plane yet. No. Daddy won’t be home till way past Diddums’s bedtime because the **** airline have gone and cancelled the flight, haven’t they…”. Or some such nonsense. And so it is, also, in places such as “The Sea Breeze” in Flic en Flac. Well, to be fair, minus the high-volume one-sided conversation. They do tend to be rather more discrete here, I have to say. Still, doesn’t it make you glad you lived long enough to experience the 21^st Century? I wonder which Indian – or possibly Pacific – Ocean “desert” island paradise will be the last to cave in and admit OBNOKIA-usage?

[AH. Of course there is also “Sex Bomb” - or as it sounds when sung by locals: “Zex Baum”. Now I had conveniently forgotten that one]

And so to “Casa Pizza”. No further info on the trips yet. Mme reckons she should hear by tomorrow. Had a beer and an espresso. Apart from the Norwegian family (naturally) I was the only one there. Things seem very quiet. Normally CP does well on a Monday she maintains, because hers is one of the few restaurants open. (Well I know for a fact that “Sea Breeze” is open because I’ve just eaten there!).

The Norse went swimmimg with dolphins today. Really enjoyed it apparently. Again though, it’s not the kind of activity you can comfortably engage in by yourself. For one thing it costs an arm and a flipper.

Ah. Mme must have had word at some stage while I was having my drinks because as I was settling up she said that my Friday trip is fixed, and that she would let me know the price tomorrow. I think to save hassle I will eat there too. At least it will give her one customer!

So, apart from returning here to type this up, that’s about it for today.

Sleep well. I’m not convinced I will.

Tuesday 28^th

All dressed up and nowhere to go? Well, sort of.

Well you never can tell, can you? I slept perfectly soundly, and when I checked first thing today there were no new signs of late-night visitations. They must be psychic, these little critters, and got wind of the “humane” solution I threatened them with.

And the bites? Well, they come and go in small numbers, but so far they haven’t given me any real problems. I slap on the “Systral” at the slightest inkling of an itch, and maybe take an antihistamine.

Today, I believe, I am to visit the British Council in Rose Hill, which is some five minutes drive from the university. Of course that is for this afternoon. This morning I have my 3-hour stint with the undergrads. Still, it means poshing up a bit compared with my usual sloppy attire. Shoes, SOCKS, long-sleeved shirt (at least it will be by the time I get there) and tie (ditto comment there!). Oh, and jacket. Think I’ll carry that.

On the way out to the security lodge I notice (for the umpteenth time) that one of the neighbouring apartments is displaying a sign: “Villa à Vendre”, and a telephone number. I’m almost tempted – I wonder how much they go for? More than I can afford that’s for sure.

So we set off on our usual half-hour commute through Beaux Songes, Palma and Quatre Bornes, towards Reduit, where is situated the university. I notice – as on every occasion I’ve previously passed it - a small roadside enterprise: “Zorro & Son. Cold-store” the sign says. As I’ve mentioned before, it’s these little touches that you don’t find in the official guidebooks and brochures. Even the LPG is disappointingly thin on them. More of that sort of thing would really help to spice-up their descriptions. At least I think so.

At the university Souda asks if I received his email. I hadn’t. Apparently we’re booked in with the British Council. For next Tuesday. Ah. So I got all over-dressed for nothing. AND I’m going to have to go through it all again next week! Never mind, there is a consolation prize. When I mention something to do with making arrangements to meet on Thursday (my next regular university day), he points out that Thursday is a public holiday. So I have yet another day off! Wow. How am I ever going to explain all this to the big-wigs up at Manchester? I think I will describe it all as “fact-finding” and leave it at that.

I met Vimi again. She is the lady who is hoping to come to Manchester to study, and whose aunt lives practically at the end of our garden. We discussed plans for when Caroline & Pete arrive, and she is very keen to meet them and to invite us to her home. When I mentioned that we are planning a trip into the capital she very kindly offered to accompany us. In her words: “I have no teaching that day and it gets very boring here”. That is not quite what she meant, methinks: I know from speaking to her earlier that she has been running around everywhere attending to all the same kinds of annoying trivia that get us so ground-down up north. So it should be a welcome relief for her. We will travel there by bus and she will get her “Daddy” to drive the two of them and hopefully we will rendezvous on the Waterfront. I will endeavour to get hold of one of these SIM cards for my phone to make that process a little easier.

Vimi, like everyone I have met here, is absolutely charming. I can thoroughly recommend this country to anyone. If you do get the chance to visit, grab it with both hands.

So by the time we’ve had a cup of tea, some Indian sweets and a couple of nibbles (and this is after a cooked lunch, mind) it is yet again time for me to meet up with the driver, and we are

”Bungalow-ward-bound” once more.

So now I’m whiling away the remainder of the afternoon typing this update, and pondering what to do with my unexpected extra day’s holiday!

And I suppose this evening it will have to be my old haunt “Cassa Pizza” un autre fois, so I can establish what has been booked in the way of excursions. It’s a hard life.

Well, I just got back from “Cassa Pizza”. I discussed various trip requirements with the lady who appears to be second-in-command, and who speaks very good English. She pointed out that the tour operator trips are expensive for one person, because the cost of the vehicle is split between the passengers. Also, if you include lunch at St Aubin it is rather fancy, and you would do better to get a cheaper lunch in one of the ordinary places.

Now it turns out CP run two Landrovers of their own, which they use for trips, and which makes it cheaper; plus you get the advantage of lots of space!

I provisionally booked the various trips for us on Wed 12^th April: “Blue Safari” (submarine) & ”Captain Nemo’s seabed Walk” for Pete & me; tea plantation, vanilla & anthurium nursery etc for Caroline. All to be by Landrover.

Also, I said I would take the Landrover trips to Pamplemousses and the Tea place etc myself on Friday of this week and Wednesday next, to see what they are like.

I paid Rs2500, for the transport for one trip. Admission fees I agreed I would pay there. I asked her for a receipt. It wasn’t till I got back here that I realised she’d made it out as though for the Tea plantation trip, whereas I was expecting it to be for Pamplemousses (botanical gardens). I don’t suppose it matters but I’d better just check with them tomorrow which trip I’m actually down for on Friday! She has my email address in case there is any problem (such as the landrover not being available) and I will call in tomorrow with the telephone number here.

I plan to go to Quatre Bornes by bus tomorrow to the Orchard shopping centre where I’m told I can get one of those SIM cards for my mobile. We’ll see anyway. Not sure exactly where the Orchard is, but I have a sneaking suspicion we may pass it on our way through, going to the university; in which case it’s right on the main high street.

Incidentally, at the table next to me there was a couple from Scotland (at least the lady was, judging by her accent), and they had a little oriental girl with them. I know she is three because they told Mme. Now, when we were on holiday last summer in Italy, at the hotel where we were staying there was a British (I think) couple with a little oriental girl. I remember because whenever any music was being played in the forecourt area she would dance away to it. Now I don’t suppose it could POSSIBLY be … No. Even I don’t go in for coincidences on that scale! Maybe the family in Italy weren’t British after all. Interestingly, I got the distinct impression that the man’s been here for a while on his own working (possibly with a company) and that the mum and daughter had just arrived today to join him. Eavesdropping - as one does - I also gathered that they may stay for a couple of months. Now couldn’t we do that?

And … Monsieur at “Casa Pizza” came over to me at one stage and said that since I was such a loyal regular, if I wanted anything different from what is on the menu (which is good, but a bit limited in scope) I could ask him an hour or two beforehand and they would do it especially for me. Isn’t that nice!

See you.

Part 7: 26th March – Tour of the Central Plain and SW Coast

Sunday 26^th March

The picture above sort of sums up the weather today. Distinctly wet.

Oh yes … Happy Summer-time to all back home! (I assume you did alter the clocks last night?). So now we are separated by a mere three hours; or (N-1) for Dick & Jeanie! (Unless you alter your clocks on a different day? Hmm. never thought of that.)

Today I’m off to the famous botanical gardens at Pamplemousses (I love that name). When I awoke (6.00 am – on a Sunday??) it was raining more fiercely than I have seen it do so far. Now, at almost 8.10 am it has brightened up. The strange thing is I have never heard any thunder or seen any lightening here. It is always just rain by itself. When you see the colour of some of the clouds you think it MUST be a thunderstorm on the way, but no. Just a downpour.

My feet are not as swollen this morning. It seems to build up during the day. I’ve been using a very refreshing peppermint foot spray at night, which helps. This morning though there is a funny sensation under the ball of my right foot – like there is a spongy bit that contacts the floor where normally no contact would be made. It’s a bit hard to describe what I mean. I can’t actually see anything, so I suppose it must be slight residual swelling. You don’t want all this anatomical detail though, I’m sure. Sorry.

Whilst waiting for the driver to arrive at the security gate, I was attempting a conversation with the guard. He is always very pleasant and we exchange a few words every time I go out or come in. He starts on some complicated story about which I pick up only the occasional details – like he lives in Beau Bassin, he has to travel back and forth for work; and something about money. I couldn’t quite grasp what. I suggested he have a word with my driver when he came. This he did. The driver then suggested I get in and he’d explain on the way. First, he enquired as to how well I knew the security guard, and whether I thought he was trustworthy.

I said I had been acquainted with him through passing in and out and exchanging pleasantries. Apparently he doesn’t get paid till next week and can’t afford the journey home (or back here?) so he wanted to know if I would lend him some money. I thought this was very peculiar. We agreed I should not get involved. Surely he would know other people working at the complex – or in the village? It seems strange to ask one of the guests. I’m sort of apprehensive about our next encounter now, in case he asks me again!

Well now we have set off, I realise that I have a correction to make. Later, I find I have a second (as will be explained). The first correction is that we are not going to Pamplemousses after all. A slight mix-up or communication error means he was expecting to take me in the opposite direction to see some of the island's most impressive natural sights. I am not complaining. It suits me fine.

We did a grand tour, which I hope you might be able to make out on the two maps following shortly. I’ve overlaid a rather shaky purple line corresponding roughly to our route. Which was, approximately:

Flic-en-Flac – Quatre Bornes – Vacoas – Floréal – Trou aux Cerfs (volcanic crater) – Mare Aux Vacoas – Grand Bassin (Hindu Temple and “Sacred Lake”) – Black River Gorges – Chamarel (waterfall) – Chamarel (“Coloured Earth”) – Baie du Cap – La Morne Brabant– Petite Rivière Noire – Grande Rivière Noire – Tamarin – Flic-en-Flac.

It would be impossible for me to do it justice in words. “Spectacular” is one that tends to get used rather too easily these days, but I think on this occasion it would be well and truly appropriate.

Very soon after we set off the heavens opened, and it was pretty much like that on and off the whole way round. But in a way that added to the dramatic scenery we were to view. And it brings me to my second correction: I can now confirm that Mauritius does indeed experience thunder and lightening. One bolt must have been no more than a hundred metres away from our car. Even so, it was only sporadic – not a fully-fledged thunderstorm (and now I’m confidently anticipating having to correct that remark too at some stage!)

The initial part of our journey takes us through already-familiar territory: Beaux Songes and Palma; but before Quatre Bornes we split off towards Vacoas and
Floréal.

Our first destination is Trou aux Cerfs, near Curepipe. This whole region was once volcanic, and we are at what remains of a long-extinct (we hope!) volcano. Mauritius is geologically one of the oldest islands in the group, but Réunion (neighbouring Mauritius) is much younger and still has an active one.

Looking straight into the crater. Note the lake in the bottom.

One of the splendid views from the crater's edge

What you see here are two mountains. One is called “Les Trois Mamelles” because it consists of three peaks which, presumably, reminded someone of mammals! (Can’t quite see it myself). That one is slightly closer to the camera, and to the left. The other is called Mont Rempart. We see these two from various locations right around the circuit: Mauritius is not very big!

Then on to Mare aux Vacoas. This is one of the island’s largest reservoirs, and is situated right in the centre of the elevated Plaines Wilhelms. One assumes it must in fact be in a dip; or how would the water get there? (Good question, eh?).

There has been rather less rain than usual this past 12 months, but a recent cyclone has almost made up for that. Mare aux Vacoas is now at about 80% capacity. Many of the other reservoirs are full. There isn’t much one can say about the reservoir itself, really. However, the drive up to it was varied; initially taking in the fringes of Curepipe and later a very pretty forested road.

A suburb of Curepipe, on the road to Mare aux Vacoas

Forested road leading to Mare aux Vacoas

Mare aux Vacoas

From here we head for Grand Bassin, which is not what you might expect from the name. It is in fact a rather small lake. However, its size is not its main attraction. Its true significance lies in the fact that it is perhaps the holiest place of Hindu worship in Mauritius. We are about a mile from Grand Bassin, when Pravin points out a tall feature just visible on the skyline. As we draw closer it resolves into a colossal statue of the Supreme Hindu God, Lord Shiva. Still under construction, it is no doubt the largest representation of Shiva in Mauritius. In this shot you can see Pravin entering the gateway, which should convey some idea of the enormous scale:

Statue of Lord Shiva at Grand Bassin; still under construction

Imagine what it will be like when it has been finished and adorned in its final colours.

Pravin explains to me that Hindus are very religious people. He himself is a devotee of Lord Shiva. He tells me something of the history. Forgive me if I am telling you things you already know. I guess I should have been more aware of this myself. Shiva, the supreme god, is supposedly married to Doorga (also known as Parvati). She protects against evils, as does Shiva himself. They have two sons: the first is Gunesh, who is the God of Wisdom. Hindus will pray to him if, for example, they are embarking upon a new career, or perhaps a course of study. The second son is named Kartikaye and he, like his parents, destroys evils.

Two other gods are also of great importance. Hanuman “protects the yard” according to Pravin; by which, I think he means one’s immediate vicinity. If someone is in a difficult situation, maybe in unfamiliar surroundings, they will call upon Hanuman for assistance. The other very important figure is Ganga, Goddess of Water. The word “ganga” in fact translates as “water”. One can imagine that in the near future she may be called upon with increasing fervour if the many depressing predictions about climate change and global politics come to pass.

The temple and the lakeside are crowded with worshippers. Though we are outside, the air is thick with incense, and many people are in the lake praying. All around the water’s edge lie what, under other circumstances, might be assumed to be discarded food – fruit, bread and other items; but these are offerings to the gods.

There being a strict ban on fishing in the lake the waters are absolutely teeming with small fish, and the occasional not-so-small eel.

Having been raised as a Roman Catholic, but having ultimately rejected most of that faith’s beliefs, I would now describe myself as, at best agnostic; yet there is no doubt that this place has a very special atmosphere.

Worshippers with the god Hanuman

Why this place? Because the original Indian settlers brought with them water from the Ganges which they added to that of the lake at Grand Bassin. One of the holiest days of the year is Maha Shivratree, during which worshippers would traditionally take water from the Ganges back to their local temples, to be placed in the Shivling. This is a shrine to Shiva which contains a partial representation of the god – his throat. Hindu belief has it that a sea was once so poisoned that no fish or plant could live in it. The people implored Lord Shiva to help them, whereupon he took some of the sea water into his mouth, and held it suspended in his throat. Had he swallowed it he himself would have been poisoned. The water taken to the shrine symbolises this event. For Mauritian Hindus, therefore, Grand Bassin is their Ganges.

Ganga, Goddess of Water

Worshippers with Lord Shiva

According to Pravin there are people who claim to have seen fairies at Grand Bassin. Under the circumstances I decide it is wise to resist the temptation to suggest it may have something to do with all the Rhum Arrangé. Instead I express my (genuine) fascination that such stories abound everywhere you go in the world. I cited Irish Leprechauns and Cornish Piskies as examples closer to my own home.

Next on the agenda is Black River Gorges. Apart from the impressive views across the gorge, this part of the trip is marked by our encountering the Norwegian family from “Casa Pizza”. They say it’s a small world. Mauritius is a microscopic country.

Looking out across Black River Gorges towards the western coastal fringe - where the sun is shining!

Mike & Pravin at Black River Gorges

My friends from Norway attempt to photograph frogs at Black River Gorges

And so on to Chamarel, to see the falls and the famous “Coloured Earth”. Both of these attractions lie, according to the LPG: “… in the grounds of a private estate that once belonged to Charles de Chamarel, who entertained Matthew Flinders during Flinders’ captivity in Mauritius during the Napoleonic Wars.” T

There is a small admission charge – Rs60. Pravin observes that it has gone up several times recently, from its original price of around Rs20. No doubt this is merely keeping pace with Mauritius’ newest and fastest-developing industry: tourism

The waterfall is, again, spectacular. In my experience, photos of cataracts rarely come out well when taken by an amateur, especially if that amateur happens to be me; nevertheless, these do give a reasonable impression:

The landscape around here is almost alien. Humps and bumps everywhere, topped mostly by small plantations of juvenile palms, sugarcane, or pineapples (indeed.); and the ubiquitous red soil and mud, running in rivers along the paths and the road itself. It intrigues me that there can still be any of it left to wash away if it rains like this regularly, and has done so for countless millennia.

The Coloured Earth itself is a patch of maybe a few hundred square metres of exposed underlying rock and mud. It is thought to have volcanic origins, and that the different shades of red and brown (officially seven, though there may be more) are a result of the lava having cooled at different rates at different locations. I don’t know enough about geology to agree or otherwise, but here is a glimpse or two:

The rain-gear, by the way, was kindly lent to me by Pravin, who very sensibly waited in the car!

Next stop: Baie du Cap. This is a tiny inlet in the south coast; no less attractive for being small of course. At the tip of the bay the sea water mixes with muddy river water to form a brackish swamp in which mangroves are growing. Now that’s something I had not expected to see.

Heading north along the eastern shoreline of Baie du Cap.

Mangroves at the head of Baie du Cap

The ones shown here are just babies. Further round the coast we saw large numbers of mature specimens, their exposed roots forming a sort of “tepee-frame” structure.

And on to La Morne Brabant. It is situated on a miniscule peninsula which marks Mauritius’ most south-westerly point. Like most of the mountains on the island, this eerie lump of rock appears to rise up straight out of the ground. No gentle foot-hills or nursery slopes here; just solid, shear, cliff face. This is a place to which, once, escaped slaves fled to hide from the authorities. These were desperate people. They sheltered in caves, some visible as we drive past; high up on the vertical rock face. From our viewpoint there seems no conceivable way up there, and many of the slaves did indeed perish in the attempt. I asked Pravin what he thought they found in the way of sustenance. He merely shrugged his shoulders.

"La Morne du Brabant" - once a hideout for runaway slaves

Finally, we make our way back along the west coast road, through a number of villages and small towns, passing more mangroves and, on the inland side of the roads, salt pans (at Tamarin).

When we arrive back here I think Pravin deserves a tip. So I offer him Rs1000. That is still less than £20, and given the fantastic trip he took me on, worth every penny. I’m glad, and somewhat relieved, that he is not offended, and willingly takes it. He will, in addition, be receiving over-time pay for today, but I guess that will still not amount to very much.

Rounded off the day with yet another meal at “Casa Pizza”. This time my excuse was I wanted to enquire about booking excursions through them. I find this is indeed possible, so I start to plan a few more trips.

Dinner this evening was fish & aubergine curry followed by Crème Broulet. With, of course, the usual beverages. In fact, the waiter even asked: “The usual, Sir?” So I’ve finally arrived! I have to admit, though that my mind wanders back to those slaves. This “banquet” is something they couldn’t have imagined in their wildest dreams, and it gives me an uneasy feeling of guilt. But that was a long time ago, wasn’t it? Then I recall my journey to Mauritius, and experiencing a similar, though considerably stronger, sensation whilst enjoying a fine Air France Dinner. Some 40,000 feet below us lay The Sudan – one of the most wretched hell-holes on earth.