I'm beginning to realise that most of the French I knew was, in fact, Creole. Creole is itself 75per cent French. Actually it's better than that. if you speak French and you get it wrong it's probably Creole. So I'm going to keep speaking French and if I get it wrong I'll call it Creole.
Yesterday was a beach day, a windy beach day. The parasol didn't work so we took our loungers into the trees. Gloria, the deck chair attendant, has become our chum by now and reserves our places. We don't know if she's really called Gloria, but she might be. her family do the fast food outlet from a van on the beach. They do a superb biriani, and mine. Their kebabs are actually baguettes filled with fried meat and spices, why not?
Despite the breeze I went snorkeling. In Flic it's like swimming over an elephant grave yard. The White coral pieces lie randomly on top of each other like bare bones stripped by vultures. It's depressing.
So imagine the joy and surprise as there before my very eyes glides an eight inch angel fish, striped in yellow and black with a multicoloured snout. I followed it for a while, and there was a patch of live blue tipped coral. Not a very big patch, maybe four square meters, but live.
It's Marie-Claire's so we're eating at Papaya, an authentic Mauritian restaurant. We have Poisson Creole, Chou chou, fried rice Mauritian style, and I had crepe banane after.
The night was finished off at Edwige's nad her husband Graham's appartment. then a final goodbye to my nieces twice removed. I shall miss Anja, Mel and Nadjia.
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