Part 6: 24th & 25th March – “Working” at Da Bungalow

Friday 24^th March

Flic en Flac Beach as it is not meant to look!

Yesterday’s grey skies and the night’s heavy rain have yielded to a return of bright sunny blue. I would say it is significantly fresher than of late as well, which makes for a most comfortable atmosphere. I haven’t even turned on the fan in the living area today. Mind you, it is only 8.30am. Thoughts of time remind me: you will probably be putting the clocks forward tomorrow! I must remember that, and adjust my communication routine from Sunday onwards, by which time you will be a mere three hours behind me. [Apologies to Dick & Jeanie in The US – I can’t work out your time-shift so early in the morning!] You see, in Mauritius they don’t alter the clocks. There wouldn’t be much point because the getting-light-in-the-morning and getting-dark-in-the-evening times remain essentially constant throughout the year. Anyway, it will make you all seem that much closer!

It’s strange. The thought of what the weather is probably like back home, and the season generally, seems as unreal now as the oven-like effect I experienced walking off the plane here less than two weeks ago. (I suppose the trees will be starting to come into blossom by now?) I wonder how it will seem three weeks hence. I have to be honest, and tell you I have very little – actually absolutely no - appetite for my eventual return to Manchester University in September! By then of course I may feel differently. I hope so. (I think I hope so, anyway.)

There was a power-cut in the middle of last night. I know because the “unsound” of the air conditioner woke me. Funny that. But then it does play a sort of mobile-phoney type of a tune when it is switched on or off, so maybe that’s what I heard. I did wonder whether it might be on some sort of time control, but that seemed unlikely since I wasn’t aware it had happened on any of the previous nights. Also, there was a distinct absence of glowing neons. More importantly, my bedside mosquito-killer wasn’t showing its neon either! But it was pitch dark and I wasn’t about to go investigating unfamiliar fuse boxes. Might as well nod off again and sort it out in the morning. Next thing I knew I was awoken by the sound of it starting up again. So we’re back to normal now. I have heard that occasional power-cuts are not uncommon on the island.

Yesterday my driver was telling me that in Rodrigues (Mauritius’ neighbouring island – some 350km away) they had very heavy rain and flooding the previous day, in which one person was killed. I suppose the heavy rain here may have been the tail end of that system. (It wasn’t a cyclone, by the way – just very heavy rain). The reason it is particularly significant is that normally Rodrigues receives very little rain being, apparently, quite arid. Not like Mauritius. That seems curious, given its close proximity. It was the driver who told me this though, so I could have misunderstood some bits.

Dharma gave me a chapter of his PhD thesis to read yesterday. So that’s brought me back down to earth with a bump! I will spend part of today on that. Then afterwards maybe take the plunge – literally – into the Indian Ocean as a special treat! But first, the chapter. And just to “prove” I do occasionally work:

The author, in suitably sombre and studious mood, concentrates on yet more work.

For those of you who have the nerve to think I spend all my time sunning myself on Flic en Flac beach, I draw your attention to my particularly pallid complexion!

It’s now 12.00 noon, and the weather has done an “anti-Margaret Thatcher”[1], in that the wind is currently pummelling the palms around something rotten and there is a veritable deluge.

Must be time for nosh, methinks. I finish off the remains of the Bresse Bleu with half a hot-dog roll, followed by Nutella thickly (yummy) spread on the other half. It is actually quite a blessing to be able to lunch in this very abstemious fashion, because on the days I go into university I get two cooked meals. And the portions are NOT small, I can tell you.

At about 2.30pm I went for the promised swim in the ocean. The sky out to sea had turned a rather threatening shade of dark grey. A bit like this, in fact:

Storm clouds over Flic en Flac Beach? Surely not!

Still, I messed around for a bit with my goggles on. The sea temperature is, as you’d expect, quite high so you don’t exactly die of hyperthermia.

After I got out and strolled back up the beach there was a prolonged shower. Heck – I got wet!

Then I encountered this little chap:

They do a good line in them around here, and there’s plenty more where he(/she?) came from. They roam free.

The rain lasted conveniently long enough to accompany me back to the humble abode. And then it stopped. Just like that. That was an hour or so ago. It’s now 4.55 pm and really pelting down again. This is all very well, but wherever I decide to eat – and it’s got to be “Casa Pizza” tonight anyway - I’ll have a 10-minute walk to get there. Should I take my brolly? I actually do have it here.

There not being a piano handy here (at least not as far as I can tell), rather late in the evening before I left Knutsford I made a rough-and-ready piano/bass recording of “Stormy Monday Blues” specifically so I could practice my newly-acquired blues “harp” against it during the quieter moments here. And thus destroy said quiet, of course. I very carefully transferred the file to either my pen-drive or else to the laptop. Can I find it? Don’t all answer at once. It’s probably a mercy anyway (No – not “Mercy, Mercy, Mercy”, although I have just been attempting that one).

So by way of an alternative occupation I am doing some washing. And typing. Natch. May as well empty the camera while I’m at it, too.

Just got a call from Dharma, who has very kindly organised my driver for Sunday to take me to Pamplemousses. That’s where the main botanical gardens are, so there should be some good photo-opportunities. I’m rather disappointed though that it won’t be Mr Dinaully after all. He’s the driver who was so eager to take me. Dharma says their supervisor likes to spread the overtime around them all (“all” being 13, it seems). I see his point. It’s only fair I suppose. Anyway, he will nevertheless try to ensure Mr D does get a chance at some stage. He really needs the overtime. Guess they all do.

I made my way down to “Casa Pizza”, as promised. This is sort of what it looks like from the outside:

I presented Monsieur with my card, which impressed him no-end for some reason. (You’ve seen one academic you’ve seen ‘em all, I’d have thought.)

Encountered a Norwegian family I had briefly met there last night. They are teachers. The father teaches maths & science and the mother art. Currently they are staying at “Paul & Virginie”, but have been travelling around Mauritius for the past two weeks. They have two sons, the younger of whom is Matthias:

Matthias from Norway

They told me that the “The Kenzibar” next door is much better for food and music, and that tomorrow (Saturday) there is to be a jam session (Wahey!!!). They are certainly intending to go. So shall I! Possibly armed with “harp” on the off-chance! (Just wish I could play the darned thing).

This evening’s live entertainment was the first I’ve heard up to now: a vocal duo. I don’t know what they are called. I would guess they are brothers. They played ballads; middle of the road stuff, mostly, including “Imagine”, “Spanish Eyes”, and “You say it Best (When You Say Nothing At All)” – or whatever it is actually called. They mixed in a small number of Mauritian ballads. I have to admit that the “lead” singer (although they both had mics I only ever heard one of them singing) has an excellent voice for that type of music. I would have preferred to hear more of the local songs, but I have to hand it to them: they did well, and I told them as much as I departed. Here they are in action:

Vocal duo (anon.) at “Casa Pizza”

Tonight I had Rhum Arrangé (yawn, yawn!) followed by chicken and shrimp (ie prawn) curry, beer, Banane Flambé and Café Créole. (Ahaa… got you there, eh?). The last is a sort of Mauritian Irish coffee. Substitute rum for the Bushmills and you’re just about there.

As I leave I pay a quick visit next door (the “Kenzibar”: quite a nice little pun, that, non?) to sample the ambience. This is much more like it – what took me so long finding this place? It has a raw, bluesy edge to it. There was a combo of bass drums and (I think – it was dark just like it’s supposed to be) three saxes jamming. Flaming torches everywhere and (I would guess) the odd suspect ciggy! I didn’t stop to find out as it was getting late – for me.

Yes, it was quite late for me – nearly 10 pm in fact, which probably explains why it was so much busier than usual on the way back! I must remember to stay out longer in the evenings.

It has been raining very heavily on and off all day, and the roads are quite wet. The drainage ditch is now running again (it had become rather dry before) and I am delighted to hear the frogs are back with a vengeance. Bravo!

Saturday 25^th March

A change of beverage at "Cassa Pizza" Tonight

If this was like our annual holiday I’d be well on my way home by now, but I’m here for another three weeks yet. The sense of time-passage is a subject that has always intrigued me. When you’re on holiday, don’t you often feel that the first half goes slowly, and then the second passes in the blink of an eye? In some ways it seems as though I have been here for ever. In other ways, I have just arrived. How can you have such contradictory impressions simultaneously? I don’t know, but it certainly leaves you somewhat disoriented. I do have a routine of sorts, so I suppose that will provide an anchor. But it’s still weird; almost as weird-seeming as my first month working from home. Gosh, was that really THIS year?

Last night was distinctly tempestuous – if you get my drift (and believe me you’re better not to). I’m forcibly reminded of Lenny Henry’s immortal line as the voice of “Ernie”, the driver of the “Night Bus” in one of the Potter movies: “Clench yar buttocks – its gonna be a bompy ride!”.

I must make a note to avoid the “shrimps” in future. Can you get “Delhi Belly” in Mauritius? It sounds incongruous. I think I’ll call it “Do-do’s Revenge!” Yes, I like that title. I’m feeling rather better now, though a little fragile. I think it might be wise not to stray too far from Da Bungalow today…

Now there’s another curious thing: I guess it’s compulsory to get the collywobbles at some point when you’re travelling in hot climates. But does that mean that if, say, I had only been staying here for one week, rather than five, it would have got me after the first three days? Interesting. How does it know? Caroline & Pete better beware. Enough of that though!

The morning is a bright and clear one with a vivid blue sky. There are some clouds in the distance but nothing too threatening.

As I am feeling considerably stronger I decide to walk to the Spar to do my grocery shopping. I fancy Camembert for a change, with my hot-dog bun. Before visiting the shop I had a look at the beach. What a contrast with yesterday. The sea itself is almost translucent this morning. I didn’t take the camera, unfortunately, wanting to leave plenty of room in the back pack for provisions.

And I spotted someone being hauled through the sky by a boat, dangling (the “someone”; not the boat) from one of those half-parachute-half-kite contraptions that you wouldn’t catch me dead on. “Parakite” by any chance? No, surely not; that sounds more like the McCaws I saw last week – only as might be pronounced by HRH.

At the Spar I re-stocked with anti-mosquito spray and sun-block as well as the usual items. Camembert also duly located and included!

(I know, you think I must be mad subjecting my plumbing to that right after the “Revenge”. Well, I guess I am).

[I bet you’re finding all this shopping detail REALLY fascinating, by the way, aren’t you? Well who knows, you might find it helpful if ever you decide to pay a visit here.]

There are Easter eggs on sale. And of course, it hasn’t happened yet, has it? But that’s impossible. Easter must surely have been months ago by now. I mean, how long ago was Christmas? Well, I suppose not long, if you base your clues on old Guiseppe selling ice cream down Flic en Flac beach. And there’s yet another seamless link in the chain of idle thoughts (“Seamless link”? Oh well.). I’m sipping my vanilla tea at the moment. It’s like drinking a hot ice cream! Very peculiar. In case I forgot to mention it earlier, vanilla tea is a speciality of Mauritius.

I have something of a dilemma: Last night, Maryse (the name on her business card), who is the proprietoress of the Casa Pizza, told us all that there is to be an “orchestra” there this evening (Saturday). They will be playing proper (I imagine) Mauritian music – Séga and so on. On the other hand, I was there last night, and look what happened. AND there’s the promised “jam session” next door. I suppose I could compromise; have a fairly safe-looking pizza and then, when I’ve had a taste of the orchestra sneak out to “Kenzibar”. Aye, that’s maybe what I’ll do. But it’s the crack of noon now, so lunch is the immediate priority. Bon appetit!

Ee, that wor reet good. You know, as time slips by I’m becoming increasingly convinced I should abandon all notions of writing a text book in favour of more of this kind of thing. Yes, I know it’s embarrassingly amateur, but it’s just got to be more entertaining than Eyring’s Theory of Rate-Activated Temperature-Dependent Viscoelastic Processes. Hasn’t it?

Hmm. I wonder whether there’s a school somewhere in the Faculty of Humanities that might be prepared to accept it as a contribution towards their RAE. No. Definitely not.

Incidentally, there may well be few piccies from today. Sorry about that. But tomorrow should make up for it. (The Botanics).

In an email yesterday, Nick suggested I might make this a blog. I would like to do that. I need to find a way of restricting it just to friends and family though. How easy is that? He also suggested linking it up with the pictures – maybe via Flickr - which would be ideal.

Update – I believe I have managed to set up a basic blog profile using the Google facility. Next I have to figure out what to do with it, but I’ll keep you posted (Hee-hee – “posted”. Ooh, is there no end to his wit?)

Me feet swelled up summat rotten today – especially the right one. I don’t really know why. It isn’t all that hot. I may be visiting the British Council on Tuesday, and am a bit worried I won’t be able to fit my shoes on (SHOES!!! YuK!). Not only that – I will probably have to wear a jacket – maybe even a tie. Can’t remember the last time I did that.

Well, I wonder what this evening’s entertainment will be like. It’s just coming up to 7.00 pm so I’m thinking about heading off in the general direction of nosh.

The “orchestra” turned out to be another duo. A guy on a Yamaha keyboard looking and sounding suspiciously like my own PSR540,

and a vocalist. The keyboard player opened up with a rendition of “Blue Bossa” – I know because it’s one we used to attempt in the old days of “Moondance”. He played over pre-recorded backing – which I would guess he’d done himself. Once the singer joined in it was straight in with classic Mauritian favourites like “Sorry (Seems to be the Hardest Word) au Elton John, and “Sex Bomb” au Tom Jones which, for reasons I cannot even begin to fathom seems to have gripped the nation. It pops up all over the place on TV, and as background music in cafés and restaurants. They really should have the courage of their convictions and play the authentic stuff. To be fair they did do a couple of Mauritian numbers, but it was more subdued than I imagine the REAL thing ought to be. Anyway, these are they:

The "Orchestra"

Tonight I stuck to Rhum Arrangé but had a Pizza Da Vinci, red wine and an espresso so as not to over-do things. I met the Norwegian guy briefly. They’d had a successful day dolphin-watching, but the elder lad was suffering from too much sun.

In the lulls between numbers, the free-form strains of trumpet, sax, drums and guitar drifted across from Kenzibar, seeming curiously at-odds with the smooth, synthetic style of the lads above.

Though once again I stood outside the Kenziba and listened for a short while, I didn’t go in. An early night in readiness fro tomorrow’s trip, I think.

1.00 pm: the sun is smiling down once more and the birds are full of the joys of whatever-the-heck season it is here.

I haven’t been able to connect to the Manchester University mail server for the past couple of days. This is probably just the latest chapter in the “Mike Wilding Vs The University of Manchester Payroll Department” Saga[2], and as such nothing to worry about. It does, however, mean that those of you who are based at that esteemed institution had better use Gmail from now on if you want to contact me (but then why would you?).

Now, where was I? Oh yes … I mustn’t forget there’s to be live music at “Casa Pizza” this evening. I should take the camcorder.

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[1] Aka, I believe, a “U-ie”.

[2] In two spirited attempts to eradicate me completely from the university payroll towards the end of 2005, the salaries and wages office sent me not one, but two separate P45s. For you non-UK folk, that’s the Inland Revenue form they hand you when they no longer require your services, to put it politely. Oh what the hell - when they kick you out. The first of these was clearly intended for a “Mr Michael Raymond Wilding”. To be fair to them, they did get my address right. Where the plot failed was that my middle name is Anthony. (As it happens, I am also Dr, but hey - let’s not be proud!). This P45 was therefore relatively easy to deflect. That particular member of the Wilding clan had apparently left the university’s employ in November. So I got what was left of his salary. But none of my own. The second attempt was more cunning, because it was clearly aimed at “Dr Michael Anthony Wilding”. And they were even cannier this time because they had my National Insurance Number correct. And you expect me to be keen to return from Mauritius? Do me a favour!!