Sunday 2nd April
The purple line indicates our approximate route for today
The top button popped off my shorts when I tried to fasten them this morning. Ah. Perhaps I am getting a little too used to this good-life
I have a university driver again today. I think I’ll ask him to take me to see the south coast – Le Gris-Gris, Souillac, etc.
It’s back to a more “normal” breakfast today – except for the three Chinese guavas I have for starters. They are certainly tart. They really do taste like unripe strawberries. “mouth-puckering” good, in fact. Bags of vitamin C, though. (Just remind me: is that good or bad for you at the moment?)
An intriguing question occurs to me: Caroline and Pete will be arriving here in almost exactly a week. I wonder how the reality of Mauritius will match their expectations. How well, or otherwise, have I conveyed what it’s like through my reports and the photos? I’ll certainly be interested to get their reactions.
I’ve just set a wash going. I must remember to spin it when I get back, or there may be no shorts for tomorrow!
The driver was Pravin again. He has an airport pick-up this afternoon, so we need to be back here by two-ish. That should be plenty of time for a tour of the south coast.
He needs to fill up, so we go via Rose Hill. We take so many short cuts involving roads that are too narrow to allow two cars to pass comfortably, but which don’t prevent buses from doing three-point turns in front of us, that I really think we’d have been quicker using the main drag. He tells me that the price of fuel has gone up several-fold over recent months. And tomorrow is budget day! Surprisingly though, there were no queues at the filling station.
Passing through Rose Hill I noticed what looked like a gambling emporium – at least, it advertised “slots” – going by the grand name of “Jumbo & Co. Ltd”. Just up Mike B’s street, I would have thought!
Because we missed it last week owing to the heavy rain, and because it is more or less on our planned route, we decide to take a look at Alexandra Falls. This time it is a fine day. We climb up to the viewing point, and of course I am expecting to see another water fall. What he didn’t prepare me for was this view:
The "Intrepid" standing with his back to the Indian Ocean
No, silly - not me. The view behind me. It looks down onto Bel Ombre on the south coast, and then straight to the Indian Ocean. I’m afraid as always, this shot doesn’t compare well with the real thing. Later we will be driving through Bel Ombre. [Come to think of it, I do seem to have put on a bit round the old mid-riff, don’t I!]
By the way, there is a waterfall as well:
Alexandra Falls
All around here are copses of papyrus trees. Amazing, and I thought they didn’t still grow them! Actually, they are not used.
Some of these trees are papyrus; eg the one nearest, left
Although we visited Grand Bassin last week when it was wet, we didn’t see any monkeys. There are always monkeys at Grand Bassin, so we will go there now and see some. There were no monkeys at Grand Bassin today either. Pravin was very puzzled by this. It seems he has almost never been there and not seen monkeys. It’s like this: when the worshippers bring offerings of fruit – oranges, mangos, bananas ... you get the idea? Our theory is that someone must have behaved badly towards them recently and frightened them off. A great pity, that. Not to worry, because I got a wonderful view of the temple, as seen from the other side of the lake:
The Temple at Grand Bassin
On our way down to the coast I mention the Chinese guavas that we picked last Sunday, and that we both forgot. I told him I enjoyed the ones we had tasted so much I bought some at Quatre Bornes market. He said he had remarked to his wife that I had forgotten them. And that one shouldn’t eat them on an empty stomach. Ah. Right. I’ll remember that tomorrow then.
Our route takes us through the Bois Cheri tea plantation (which I will be visiting more “officially” next week). It is seems odd to see endless acres of neatly pruned camellia bushes. I’m more used to seeing endless acres of neatly cultivated sugarcane. We stopped by the edge of one field.
At the edge of one of the Bois Cheri tea fields
Luckily, we were just in the nick of time for a nice green tip to drop into my lap (honest, guv):
A tea-leaf in the lap of a "tea-leaf"?
All your main brands get some of their tea from here. I am wondering if our local supermarket by any chance sells it.
And now we are heading for the wild and rugged south coast. First off, Le Gris-Gris, which is a tiny sandy cove lashed by rollers:
Le Gris-Gris
Yet again, this gives no real impression. I realised I would have been much better bringing the camcorder to capture not only the motion of the waves, but also their thunderous roar. Next time.
Here are a few more views taken from the same location
How do they get these colours?
Blimey mate - 'ang on to yer 'at!
We are now at the most southerly tip of Mauritius. Yesterday I was at its most northerly point. We are just about slap bang on the Tropic of Capricorn. So looking out to sea, now, it is hard to get my head around the mind-blowing fact that the next nearest piece of land in that direction is Antarctica!
From here we take a short hop to see La Roche Qui Pleure – “The Crying Rock” It’s so-called because its structure is such that after a breaker strikes it, the water drains through lots of channels and gullies. From a distance it occasionally appears to be gushing out of the rock face itself. I don’t think this really shows it though:
La Roche Qui Pleure
We then saunter back along the coast through Souillac, Rivière des Galets and Bel Ombre, down upon which we had looked earlier.
From there we followed much the same route as we had last Sunday, via La Morne. Just before we got there we encountered the most chaotic traffic snarl-up yet. There were buses – lots of them – trying to pass round one another, as well as cars, mopeds, you name it. This coast road is not exactly the M25, but it felt a bit like it. Eventually the probable cause came into view. It was as though a whole stretch of the left-hand verge had been converted into a “Bazaar and Rummage” sale. On the other (inland) side, people were flocking out of the church and making their way across. I couldn’t understand what it was all about at first, but Pravin said it was something to do with fasting before Easter. Then it dawned on me – is it Palm Sunday today by any chance? I am getting completely lost with time, in the calendar sense.
It was unfortunate really, because Pravin can’t afford to be too late getting me back to FeF. He seemed to take it all extraordinarily calmly though. We got back just after two, which he said was fine because it only takes an hour to the airport. (See? Everywhere takes an hour). However, if he’s lucky he might just squeeze in a few minutes’ rest before that. He’d had another assignment at about two this morning as well, so the poor lad desperately needs a break. I gladly gave him another Rs1000. He was a bit more hesitant about taking it this time, but I insisted.
Started the washing spinning (remembered, see?); a quick lunch of bread, butter and the last of the Bleu Doux cheese, plus grape juice, and it’s time to have a go at sewing that button back on. Think I’ll shift it over just a tiny bit.
And hey - there’s no compelling reason to dine at “Casa Pizza” tonight: I paid for the trip yesterday. So I am a free agent again! I believe I may call in at “The Leslie”.
Washing duly hung out, I retire to the porch to do a spot of reading. Until I notice the occasional mosquito is landing on me. Time to replenish the old prophylactic, methinks. That’s better. Now I can carry on reading for a while longer.
One time when I was eating at the “Bois Noir” there was a German (or if not, then Scandinavian) man sitting at one of the tables. Also alone. He was wearing what I would describe as a “breaker’s” Tee-shirt – you know, like a vest? (UK definition here, Dick!). There used to be a regular “Scrapheap Challenge” team leader; can’t remember his name, or that of his team, but he was stocky, bald, and quite possibly had a goatie beard. This guy is the spitting image of him, but minus the beard. He has every appearance of being called “Otto”. I particularly remember him for his commendably sociable attitude in the restaurant. At one point he declared very loudly: “Hey, ziss beer is scheiss!”. It wasn’t. It just wasn’t the “Special Brew” he thought he’d ordered. Well, I’m just considering going in for a shower when he appears on the grass opposite my patio armed with a barbecue, a plastic table and approximately a dozen matching chairs. (To be fair, I don’t think he actually carried all that lot single-handedly, although he looks as though he could do.). This means three things:
1. he is my near neighbour;
2. things could get rowdy later;
3. I may have to run the gauntlet returning from dinner.
Just my luck. Why me?
The barbecue is now alight. Well, I will slip out and head for “The Leslie” before the fun starts.
I’m now in that establishment, and am enjoying a Green Island rum, “Cerf à la Créole” (venison Créole style) and (after the rum) a beer. As is now mandatory, I am the first customer. (Just let anyone dare try getting in before me and see what happens!)
Suddenly – aaaagghh!! – I am “gently” reminded that the chilli accompaniment must be taken in homeopathic quantities. Hell, I’ve applied no more than a quarter-teaspoonful to a whole plate of boiled rice and venison stew, and my entire insides are incinerating. It takes several more generous helpings of rice, half a loaf of bread and a second beer even to begin to quell the flames. Still, the meal was good. But I can’t finish it – such a large portion, you see. I dispense with dessert (well, after all, I have just sewn back the button on my shorts), and continue to savour the soothing effects of “Phoenix” beer.
There is now a party of eight across at one of the other tables, by the way, as well as a couple, just around the corner.
The bill comes to a very modest Rs525 (~ £9.80). I round it up to Rs550. This means a tip of less than 5%, which is not as much as I would normally leave. But when, as just happened to me, a rat leaps onto your lap while you are still drinking your beer (and I kid you not), your generosity begins to identify its bounds.
Now I know there isn’t a fat lot they can do about it. There was that kerfuffle there the other night when they were pursuing one with brooms. But at least that one, like the one I saw recently in “Casa Pizza” (of all places), confined itself to the ground.
I suppose, looked at rationally, there are fewer rats per square metre here than there are in Knutsford. There have been recent reports in the Knutsford Guardian about them. And these here are probably smaller and quite possibly cleaner. Still, we don’t tend to eat al fresco very often in Knutsford.
But one thing is for sure: on no account must the damned traders get wind of this or they will have a cast-iron argument against pedestrianisation!
I am now approaching No. 42 (my humble abode) with slight apprehension: will the sliding glass patio door still be in one piece? Will the entire area be up in flames? Or maybe this apartment and the two either side will have been deftly converted into some kind of hovercraft-come-car-crushing machine?
There they all are. The barbecue is glowing brightly and – oh. Very sedate conversation. OK. I’ve been here typing now for a good hour, and there hasn’t been a dicky-bird out of them. So … wrong again, then. I must resist all temptation to take up psychology as a post-retirement occupation!
Night!
PS: I just heard a howl of laughter. Is it too late to reconsider?
No comments:
Post a Comment