Day 1 Finding everyone
'Ivan?' someone shouts questioningly from across the road. I'd just gone into Flic en Flac to get some washing powder. It’s Najia, Marie-Claire’s daughter. I couldn't tell at first, but it had to be someone from our lot, so I crossed the road.
'Hey. Small world. Fancy seeing you here?' I gave her a little hug. Jeurn, her father, was there too. They had arrived yesterday and were taking a stroll also. 'Where are you staying?' We exchanged Mauritian addresses. It turns out there not far from me, and really quite close to Sheila, Mum and Dad. The rest are staying at the Pearl Bay Resort.
'We'll see you on the beach at about ten' we agreed. Marilyn is here with her sons Daniel and Alex. Daniel has two boys too and they’re here. I hope we can all meet up soon. So I head back to my apartment. I have a studio flat in Flic, about 300 yards from the beach. It's actually a converted garage. Still it's reasonably well converted and reasonably priced. Pearl Bay, I find out later, is a much more plush hotel complex, I might have booked in there. In fact I'm going to be moving to Tounes' campement in about a week. Toune is my father's cousin, and although I've never met him, he is part of the family.So I get to the beach and sure enough we all gather. My cousin Francis is also here with his children Dolly and William. He has a car. After an excited exchange of travel stories my generation decide we have to go to Beau Basin, where we grew up. So we leave mum and dad on the beach. Me, Vivianne, Francis and Sheila pile into Francis's hired car and away. Well, after tasting a Flic en Flac beach pineapple drenched in a sweet and spicy syrup, that is. Ah, a Mauritian taste alright. Yesterday just when we had arrived I'd had several gateau pimment, and samosa. The tastes of the island.
First stop is at a church in Bambou. It's the Catholic church where my grandfather and grandmother were married. It is a beautiful, and still maintained, colonial Catholic church, but not so ornate as some. We sat in a pew imagining the gathering. No doubt many disapproved, but those present would have been looking on joyfully, wondering if such a marriage could survive. 'What, an Indian and a French girl?'. Grandpere must have changed his name before the wedding to Benett from Moochialoo. In fact Granmere Suzzanne was also of mixed race. We saw a picture of her mother, Marie Davis with her father David Davis. David Davis had also Europeanized his name from an Indian one.
After the church, it’s on to a cemetery in St Martin. 'Granpere's people came from St Martin' Viv tells us authoritatively. Viv spent much of her last visit chasing our ancestors, the records being in Bambou. There were no Moochialoos burried here, but there is an interesting story of a Jewish part of the cemetery occupied by so exiled Jews during the war. There is also a family connection, that one of our more distant cousins married a Jewish man and came back to Mauritius. He has been tending the graves.
On to Beau Basin and we stumble across Rue Pere Laval. 'This is where Rose-May lives' Francis suddenly says, and goes into the drive. Rose-May Abraham is in and not at all flustered to see us all. We go in and exchange memories of that house. It is relatively small, and I have few memories of, but I distinctly remember the Lychee tree which we climbed up, or was it another one. We took photos anyway.
After that we had some food in the square, Dahl Pouri and some Biryani Poule. Heavenly tastes. We stopped off on the way at Queen Elizabeth College where mum taught and we went to Kindergarten just at the entrance to the school. I never knew it was so close. Then on to Rue Telephone. That's the road we lived on. At one end the Rose family. At the other the Benetts.
A little walk further to the end of the road and we can go across the roundabout, over looked by Sacre Couer, to Marilyn’s junior school. I wonder where my junior school was as I have no memory of this one. Then La Rue Mosque where at one end lived the Cheron family. Further down that road and it’s back onto the main Rue Royale. Apparently there we small bars on this bit of the street. This was where the men would gather and drink rhum.
Finally I get back to my apartment for a rest. We're meeting later for a meal at the Pearl Bay resort and some Sega.
Day2 Maheborg and Blue Bay
‘That’s where Marie-Claire pushed Marilyn off the roof’. We peered up to the top of a two floor building. ‘That second floor wasn’t there, but we lived on the first floor, in the apartment with the balcony’ continues Viv. Of course Marie-Claire hadn’t really done that, the two girls aged about four and five respectively, had climbed onto the roof and were throwing stones onto the road. Luckily, well beyond luck probably, their maid, Cécile, was alert and saw Marilyn fall to what would have been death or severe disability. A cousin, Louis Abraham I think, seeing what had happened rush to the roof and caught Marie-Claire just as she too was about to loose her balance.
We had come to Maheborg, Mauritius’s second city, to see the Cheron house. They had moved there from Beau Basin where Guydoux, the father, had set up and bought a pharmacy. They lived literally, over the shop. The location is the busy main street. Noisy, bustling and dirty. The buildings are a metaphor for Mauritius itself. Faded, unrenovated and in some places literally falling down. ‘I love it, I feel as if I’ve come home’ declares Daniel, Marilyn’s son, without irony. The shop we pass is blaring out ‘Exodus’ by Bob Marley. I’m not sure about home, but certainly there’s a feeling pf returning to our roots being here. Not so much Maheborg as Beau Basin, but I think I know what he means. ‘You could buy something cheep here, I expect’ I encourage him. ‘I think I might just do that’ he replies optimistically.
Maheborg is where the ‘Grand Port’ is, a huge natural harbour formed by the reef. It was here that, in 1810, the great Mauritian sea battle between the French and the English fleets took place. French culture was, by then, already established, but the Island’s governance passed to the English.
Overlooking the Grand Port is a mountain that looks like a lion. Guess what the name of the mountain is. The lion is lying down; its head is looking up into the sun and its back feet trailing in the sea. It is a pretty cool sight, and the more you look at it the more like a lion it becomes.Mauritians now speak French and English, but they prefer to speak to each other in Creole. There was a lot of Creole being shouted in the market we visited, and the best bargains are made in quick fire Creole. There are also food sellers calling for business as you pass them. I bought some Makacha-a-coco. Makacha is like a small sweet bread bun. The ‘a coco’ bit is a coconut filling, like a doughnut. An authentic taste of Mauritius.
Another authentic taste is the Biryani. That’s where we go for lunch, to the best biryani in town. When we arrive, a little behind the others having stopped for rum cocktail, they have run out, so were making a fresh batch.
It was after the biryani that we went to see the Cheron house. A very nice Chinese person let us into the back yard to see the very spot where Marilyn nearly fell to her fate. It is strange, and good, that people are prepared to let about twenty complete strangers into their house just because some of them used to live there.
After Maheborg we went to Blue Bay, a beautiful little beach further north. This beach is not as gentle as it first looks, for it has claimed the lives of many young people. It suddenly becomes vey deep not far out and is prone to rip tides. Still none of us is in the mood for being brave and we content ourselves with splashing around in the cool salty water. 
Some stay, including me, to watch the sunset, ‘le couchez du solei’. It’s been a long day. Our driver, we’d hired a taxi for the day, is very patient and waits until we’re ready to go. Then it's back home for what should have been an early night.Instead, we stayed up to listen to Viviane’s latest discoveries about the Benett family. She has found a photograph taken some years ago of the old family, at a gathering. They are lined up on the veranda of the Derblay house which we are visiting later in the week. We’re going to have a similar photo of our generation. Who knows, in a hundred years time the next generation might do the same. What a shame then that we’re not all here.
Internet connection lost, not sure why, anyway I’m keeping a diary for my blog to try to be able to recall what we did and saw.
Day 3. A day on the beach. The priority is toilet paper. I have been taught a severe lesson from ignoring advice about street trader food. It seems to be a passing thing but all the same, better safe than sorry. While I’m there, why not get a Mauritian SIM card, they’re all the rage. The helpful girl answers yes when I ask ‘ esque vous parlez Anglais?’ . As I said they all do. I‘m also starting to realise that the French I thought I knew was partly creole. Not so much the words as the accent. For example, I’ve never been sure how much to emphasise the ‘r’ in merci, thank you. My inclination is to hardly use it at all, and now I see why. It sounds more Scouse than Parisian.
Well I couldn’t get into my phone to try the SIM card. So I bought a new phone. The most basic one they do. Perfect, I’m all set up now.
Today is a lazy day, or it was meant to be. I did actually spend large parts of it on the beach. I also swam out to the reef, well nearly to it. I decided to go out with Jeurn, he is a good swimmer. I’m less confident, having been scared to death as a child by stories of rip tides and children drowning. However, if I have my flippers I can go anywhere. So off we went.
The coral on the Mauritian reef is mostly dead. It is white, crumby and lifeless. What a damn shame. There are bits of healthier coral and all I can do is hope that someone is thinking about it and looking after it.
Day 4 Port Louis
Factions are beginning to get established as the group is too big to keep as a single entity. People want to do different things at different times. Tomorrow we’ll be together on a boat ride, but today a group is setting off to the Capital, Port Louis.
The government buildings are being renovated so we can’t go in. The botanical garden and natural history museum are also closed. Never mind, plenty of time later. The Cordon shopping centre is open. It is modern, new and bright. We attempt a bit of bargaining but really it’s too soon to be buying souvenirs (I wonder what the French for that is). It’s too hot outside. I must come back when it’s cooler.
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