Part 15: 4th April – University; last lecture

Tuesday 4^th April

It was supposed to have been a British Council day today - again; and you’ve guessed it. The guy apparently had another meeting and cancelled mine. Hmm. Shows how important the University of Manchester must be to them. Still, we’ve done all we can. But it meant dressing up for the second Tuesday in a row!

Ah well. At least I managed to finish my teaching; and with enough time to spare that I could give the students a slide-show flavour of Manchester, the University, Liverpool, The Lake District, The Peak District, Snowdon, Tatton Park, Knutsford, and our house. They were tickled pink when they noticed our Peugeot 206 parked on the drive. They probably didn’t realise that sort of technology had percolated so far north yet! Only joking. Actually, their curiosity was more concerned with the fact that it was a French car. Oh dear. Never mind.

Then the highlight of the day – and possibly the entire trip – came from Olivier, one of the lads. For some reason that I find hard to fathom, they would all rather like to see me as happy as a newt on the beach, via the consumption of copious quantities of rum. To this end, they suggest meeting me there on Saturday morning about 10. They usually pack up and go home again around 4 pm. Now, you see, they believe it is their duty to do this by way of thanks; to show their appreciation. Of course, it may just be for the opposite reason: that thought hadn’t occurred to me before!

Eeeek! Six hours with precious little shade from the tropical sun, but enough alcohol to power me back to Knutsford? Err. I wonder whether I am still young enough to cope. Oh yes, I think so. As you will realise, there is occasionally the merest hint of exaggeration in my reports. When I talked about neat rum to them they nearly had a blue fit. It seems they would only do that if they had already drunk so much that they forgot to dilute it! (A nice way of putting it, I thought!). Well, Olly has my mobile number, so we’ll see.

Now wouldn’t it be nice if, once in a while, our own students in Manchester showed such appreciation!

Now then. I take back all the horrid things I said about bus drivers on Mauritius. They are absolute pussy cats. Today I had a new university driver to bring me back to FeF. I’m not sure, but I do believe we may have arrived before we set off. But it isn’t the speed per se – although that is certainly impressive; it is the constant compulsion to overtake whatever is/are in front, at every opportunity – and often when there isn’t an opportunity! I spoke of exaggeration earlier. Well this is no exaggeration. For the first (and hopefully last) time on this trip I was genuinely in fear for my life. And that’s coming from someone who has been driven in Turkey, Portugal … and Iran. I don’t think I need say more on the subject, do I?

I might call in at “The Sea Breeze” this evening, for old-times’ sake, and to settle the nerves.

I would have done, but it was closed. You’d think by now I’d know which night each restaurant closes wouldn’t you? I sauntered along to “The Ocean” but it was like the Marie Celeste, only on dry land. I couldn’t face the idea of staring out the staff all evening, so meandered back towards the Spar complex, growing increasingly uneasy at the prospect that it might have to be the good old “Casa Pizza”. AGAIN. However, as I was passing it at the time, I decided to give “La Passerelle” another try. Well at least there was one table occupied; by a British threesome.

I seem to recall the last time I was here it served a vaguely French cuisine. Tonight’s menu appears to be Mauritian – and at rather more reasonable prices. I ordered a Green Island with ice & lemon, lamb curry, a beer, Crêpes flambées and an espresso. Total bill Rs649 (about £12). Not bad.

No-one else came in to eat, but by the time I left the British crew were still showing no signs of leaving.

It was one of the other security guards here this evening. A lovely man. We had a chat. I asked him how he was, and he said OK but a little tired. I then asked him what time he came on duty, and what time he goes off again. He started at 6 pm and he finishes at 7 am. A 13-hour night-shift! He does this three nights a week. And I guess he does day duties between as well. He has three children, and he is paid the equivalent of less than £100 per month. I can vouch for the fact that, while the cost of living here is lower than that of the UK, it’s not that much lower. I am now realising the predicament the other fellow must have been in when he enquired about borrowing the fare home. More than likely he was also deeply embarrassed to ask. And these guys are looking after my security. It is rather humbling.

Anyway, that’s it really: an even briefer blog than yesterday’s was. I’m getting worried I might be losing my touch! G’night.