Today was hot, very hot. I lay on the beach under a parasol. Then snorkeling, then under the parasol. I saw three angle fish all together. I read my book and dozed. It was hot.
Before that I'd checked my e-mails. It was too hot for anything else.
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Saturday, 30 October 2010
Beaches, Ben and St Aubin
Peter, Kate and Jen leave today, and I'm moving apartments. I'm moving to Toun's place in Flic en Flac, but first we've got to get Peter to the airport. I still haven't heard from Siva about working here. Maybe I didn't send to the right address, or maybe it isn't meant to be after all.
We'd come up with a plan to make a trip out of getting to Plaissance where the airport is. A taxi can take us down the West coast, and we can pick up some sights on the way.
It is quite an early start, 8am. We drive through Tamarin, a fairly well to do town where the houses are bigger and the people whiter, and on to La Preneuse. Here is the site of a Martello tower. It is one of a small number dotted around the island. They are placed on the coast and guard the few breeches in the reef where attacking enemy ships might try to land. On top of the tower would have been cannons focusing their fire on that spot. Below are soldiers quarters and below that, stores of ammunition, food and water.
Mauritius is hard to attack because of the reef. We've decided that it has to be volcanic to be able to weather the ferocity of the waves. The coral must grow in gentler waters either side of the breakers.
Next a beach called La Prairie. A beautiful stretch of sandy beach, and virtually empty. There's a man standing in the sea with his head under water and prodding at something. Probably looking for octopus, we decide.
Further down the coast is Maconde rock. We climb it to get a great view of the coast line and the amazing turquoise colour of the sea. I don't think I've ever seen that colour so vividly before. There is also a yellow block of concrete about a foot square, may be bigger. A geo-cache point perhaps?
The next beach is called Gris Gris, literally grey grey. There is no reef here, or if there is it virtually joins the beach. The waves are huge and the Indian ocean crashes down on granite coast sending spray up into the hot air. There's a sign warning us that it's dangerous to swim. No kidding!
Down the coast a little further is Ilot Sancho. You can walk to it at low tide, so we do. Pirates used to stow there treasure here. A real treasure island.
Next it's StAubin. This is a French colonial house and the site of an old sugar factory and rhumary. The house is excellently preserved, with a wide veranda and spacious bedrooms, all in wood. There is a botanical garden with strange plants. One, called a Chorisia tree, has a spiky trunk. There is a Bilimbi tree with it's sour fruit, a cocoa tree and many fabulous flouring plants.
The highlight is the vanilla plants. They need meticulous cultivation and preparation, hence the very high price of the pods in shops. Finally the rhum distillery. We end the tour with rhum tasting, of course.
Eventually we get to blue bay, too late for a swim, then to the airport and we say goodbye. Back to Flic en flac.
In the evening Edwige, Viv's cousin, drives us to the other end of the island, to Grand Baie. Viv's old junior school friend Ruby, lives there. We're going out to dinner at a posh restaurant. Her husband is Ben, and he's a prominent doctor in Port Louis. He seems to know who is who. He says he'd be happy to be my contact and gave me his e-mail address.
It's been a very long day. Tomorrow is going to be a beach day for sure.
We'd come up with a plan to make a trip out of getting to Plaissance where the airport is. A taxi can take us down the West coast, and we can pick up some sights on the way.
It is quite an early start, 8am. We drive through Tamarin, a fairly well to do town where the houses are bigger and the people whiter, and on to La Preneuse. Here is the site of a Martello tower. It is one of a small number dotted around the island. They are placed on the coast and guard the few breeches in the reef where attacking enemy ships might try to land. On top of the tower would have been cannons focusing their fire on that spot. Below are soldiers quarters and below that, stores of ammunition, food and water.
Mauritius is hard to attack because of the reef. We've decided that it has to be volcanic to be able to weather the ferocity of the waves. The coral must grow in gentler waters either side of the breakers.
Next a beach called La Prairie. A beautiful stretch of sandy beach, and virtually empty. There's a man standing in the sea with his head under water and prodding at something. Probably looking for octopus, we decide.
Further down the coast is Maconde rock. We climb it to get a great view of the coast line and the amazing turquoise colour of the sea. I don't think I've ever seen that colour so vividly before. There is also a yellow block of concrete about a foot square, may be bigger. A geo-cache point perhaps?
The next beach is called Gris Gris, literally grey grey. There is no reef here, or if there is it virtually joins the beach. The waves are huge and the Indian ocean crashes down on granite coast sending spray up into the hot air. There's a sign warning us that it's dangerous to swim. No kidding!
Down the coast a little further is Ilot Sancho. You can walk to it at low tide, so we do. Pirates used to stow there treasure here. A real treasure island.
Next it's StAubin. This is a French colonial house and the site of an old sugar factory and rhumary. The house is excellently preserved, with a wide veranda and spacious bedrooms, all in wood. There is a botanical garden with strange plants. One, called a Chorisia tree, has a spiky trunk. There is a Bilimbi tree with it's sour fruit, a cocoa tree and many fabulous flouring plants.
The highlight is the vanilla plants. They need meticulous cultivation and preparation, hence the very high price of the pods in shops. Finally the rhum distillery. We end the tour with rhum tasting, of course.
Eventually we get to blue bay, too late for a swim, then to the airport and we say goodbye. Back to Flic en flac.
In the evening Edwige, Viv's cousin, drives us to the other end of the island, to Grand Baie. Viv's old junior school friend Ruby, lives there. We're going out to dinner at a posh restaurant. Her husband is Ben, and he's a prominent doctor in Port Louis. He seems to know who is who. He says he'd be happy to be my contact and gave me his e-mail address.
It's been a very long day. Tomorrow is going to be a beach day for sure.
Friday, 29 October 2010
La Vallee de Ferney
It was like going into Jurassic Park except we were in a rickety bus, and the time scale is much shorter. Sandy is an enthusiastic young Mauritian woman who is our guide to today.
'You are stepping back 400 years to the time when men first came to the island' she informs us. She switches with ease between English, French and Creole. Vallee de Ferney is in the South-East of the island. In fact, on the way we stopped at a street sellers stall right under the landing flight path and saw a plane go right over our heads. She tells us that this is the part of the island where sugar cane was first introduced, from a cutting from Java in 1639, by the Dutch. The first growers made an alcoholic drink from it called in Creole, larac. It must have been the forerunner of rum.
The dutch also brought Ebony with the same cargo. Actually it was Ebony the Dutch were most interested in, and grew large plantations of it. When the European market for this wood was saturated, they literally abandoned the island.
The natural rain forest that covered most of Mauritius was also cleared for sugar cane, but this bit of Indigenous rain forest remains. Two hundred hectares has been left and is an active conservation area. Here endangered species are kept from extinction, and repopulate the forest. The reserve was due to have much of it's precious land bulldozed to make way for a freeway. This, despite pressure from conservation groups and local petitions. However, a very rare specimen was discovered. A tree thought to have been extinct, the Nail wood tree, came to the rescue. It does not pollinate and so has been reproduced by tissue culture. Only 80 individuals exist.
The Jurassic bus drops us off in the middle of the forest for the start of the hour and a half walk. Sandy leaves us and off we go. It is hot and insecty but brilliant. We walk past the nail wood tree, and many trees that were due to be cut down.
Then the forest opens up and we're near the end of the walk.
'Look, look' says Kate, excitedly 'it's the Mauritian kestrel'. We'd been told that we might see one if we were lucky. They were down to one breeding male at one point, but now there are about 1,000 individuals. It has a characteristic flight and is there soaring high in the hot sky. We also get to see a Mauritian white tailed Parakeet, and a flying fruit bat.
The whole area is owned by Franco-Mauritians, blanc-Mauritien, who also use the land to hunt wild boar. I suppose they must be direct descendants of Asterisk and Obilix or the French aristocracy that fled at the time of the revolution. I don't like the idea of these people owning large swathes of my island, but at least they appear to be being ecologically sensitive, so two cheers for them.
After a good lunch it's back home to pack, for the next move. I'm going to Toun's tomorrow, and Peter, Kate and Jen are off home.
'You are stepping back 400 years to the time when men first came to the island' she informs us. She switches with ease between English, French and Creole. Vallee de Ferney is in the South-East of the island. In fact, on the way we stopped at a street sellers stall right under the landing flight path and saw a plane go right over our heads. She tells us that this is the part of the island where sugar cane was first introduced, from a cutting from Java in 1639, by the Dutch. The first growers made an alcoholic drink from it called in Creole, larac. It must have been the forerunner of rum.
The dutch also brought Ebony with the same cargo. Actually it was Ebony the Dutch were most interested in, and grew large plantations of it. When the European market for this wood was saturated, they literally abandoned the island.
The natural rain forest that covered most of Mauritius was also cleared for sugar cane, but this bit of Indigenous rain forest remains. Two hundred hectares has been left and is an active conservation area. Here endangered species are kept from extinction, and repopulate the forest. The reserve was due to have much of it's precious land bulldozed to make way for a freeway. This, despite pressure from conservation groups and local petitions. However, a very rare specimen was discovered. A tree thought to have been extinct, the Nail wood tree, came to the rescue. It does not pollinate and so has been reproduced by tissue culture. Only 80 individuals exist.
The Jurassic bus drops us off in the middle of the forest for the start of the hour and a half walk. Sandy leaves us and off we go. It is hot and insecty but brilliant. We walk past the nail wood tree, and many trees that were due to be cut down.
Then the forest opens up and we're near the end of the walk.
'Look, look' says Kate, excitedly 'it's the Mauritian kestrel'. We'd been told that we might see one if we were lucky. They were down to one breeding male at one point, but now there are about 1,000 individuals. It has a characteristic flight and is there soaring high in the hot sky. We also get to see a Mauritian white tailed Parakeet, and a flying fruit bat.
The whole area is owned by Franco-Mauritians, blanc-Mauritien, who also use the land to hunt wild boar. I suppose they must be direct descendants of Asterisk and Obilix or the French aristocracy that fled at the time of the revolution. I don't like the idea of these people owning large swathes of my island, but at least they appear to be being ecologically sensitive, so two cheers for them.
After a good lunch it's back home to pack, for the next move. I'm going to Toun's tomorrow, and Peter, Kate and Jen are off home.
Thursday, 28 October 2010
More lounging around
'Tu est ici pour Diwali ?' Vilasha tells me. That's the name of the beach chair attendant. We are sitting at her table for lunch at Gloria's fast food van again. It turns out that next week is indeed Diwali, a time when Hindus go mad-for-it.
The day has consisted of nothing very exciting. I phoned Max Derblay to let him know that I had the keys to the flat, that I was staying with Peter for a few days, and that it was very kind of him to sort out the linen after I go. I cleared my e-mails at the very cheap Internet cafe and we had headed for the beach on what turns out to be a rather overcast day. We should have gone walking, it was the perfect day, but we didn't, that's for tomorrow.
I started a new book. The end of Adrian Mole had left us wondering whether he and Pandora would finally get it together. The new book revolves around an episode of road rage. I hope he gets his come-uppance.
One of the great things about Creole, being a spoken rather than a written language, is that there is no correct spelling, and so no incorrect spelling. For those of us that never thought spelling was that important, it's a real liberation. Say what you see, then hear the word. Once it's written down it is fossilised, dead. A spoken language is alive.
We end the day at a posh new bar called Hippocamp (seahorse) and then on to a Karaoke bar. We're the only ones in, so that's OK. Tomorrow we're going walking in an indigenous forest.
The day has consisted of nothing very exciting. I phoned Max Derblay to let him know that I had the keys to the flat, that I was staying with Peter for a few days, and that it was very kind of him to sort out the linen after I go. I cleared my e-mails at the very cheap Internet cafe and we had headed for the beach on what turns out to be a rather overcast day. We should have gone walking, it was the perfect day, but we didn't, that's for tomorrow.
I started a new book. The end of Adrian Mole had left us wondering whether he and Pandora would finally get it together. The new book revolves around an episode of road rage. I hope he gets his come-uppance.
One of the great things about Creole, being a spoken rather than a written language, is that there is no correct spelling, and so no incorrect spelling. For those of us that never thought spelling was that important, it's a real liberation. Say what you see, then hear the word. Once it's written down it is fossilised, dead. A spoken language is alive.
We end the day at a posh new bar called Hippocamp (seahorse) and then on to a Karaoke bar. We're the only ones in, so that's OK. Tomorrow we're going walking in an indigenous forest.
Signs of hope at Flic en Flac
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.
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.
Tuesday, 26 October 2010
Joselyn's birthday
Jocelyn was 60 yesterday, and we all crossed the Island to Trou D'eau Douce where they have a campement. We came here last time in 2004 on a pirate ship. It took us to Isle au Cert, where we had a beach barbecue and danced the Sega. On that occasion we'd gone up the Grande Riviere Sud Est to some spectacular waterfalls.
This time there's no time for such a large scale venture. Jeurn has negotiated a lower price on the van trip and his lot and ours are travelling together. It's about 30K but it will take an hour and a half.
On the way stop at Bel Mar (creole spelling), where we stayed last time. Then I had all my children with me, my siblings and their children and it was terrific. We'll have to do it again.
We stop for some gateaux piment, samousa, and farata and then a swim. I bought three genuine labelled t-shirts from the factory outlet shop. In the car park we bump into Philip and Ingrid, Jocelyn's son and in-law who direct us to their place. It is spectacular.
Their campement directly overlooks the beach. The reef is incomplete at Bel Mar and so the waves come tumbling onto the beach and role up it's gentle incline before disappearing into the sand. The scene is idyllic, with palm trees on the edge of the beach tilting, some towards and others away, from the sea. A cool sea breeze gently disturbs the leaves and keeps the temperature perfect. The sea is rough enough for breakers in the choppy deep blue water. The sky is a lighter uniform blue with an occasional fluffy white cloud drifting imperceptibly.
Rob, Jos's husband, curiously declines the offer of a swap of apartments.
The afternoon slips by in a blissful haze, culminating in a toast to Jocelyn and short words of appreciation from husband and son Matthew.
Jocelyn had sustained severe burns in accident before coming out and she nearly didn't come, so they have a maid who does everything. She had been cooking some proper Mautitian scran for later. Sadly, this was not for us and we were bundled into our van for the long trip back. To start with we were in high spirits, but that gave way to somnolence, which I was unable to shake off. I went to bed at 9.40, exhausted from doing nothing, and another fantastic day.
This time there's no time for such a large scale venture. Jeurn has negotiated a lower price on the van trip and his lot and ours are travelling together. It's about 30K but it will take an hour and a half.
On the way stop at Bel Mar (creole spelling), where we stayed last time. Then I had all my children with me, my siblings and their children and it was terrific. We'll have to do it again.
We stop for some gateaux piment, samousa, and farata and then a swim. I bought three genuine labelled t-shirts from the factory outlet shop. In the car park we bump into Philip and Ingrid, Jocelyn's son and in-law who direct us to their place. It is spectacular.
Their campement directly overlooks the beach. The reef is incomplete at Bel Mar and so the waves come tumbling onto the beach and role up it's gentle incline before disappearing into the sand. The scene is idyllic, with palm trees on the edge of the beach tilting, some towards and others away, from the sea. A cool sea breeze gently disturbs the leaves and keeps the temperature perfect. The sea is rough enough for breakers in the choppy deep blue water. The sky is a lighter uniform blue with an occasional fluffy white cloud drifting imperceptibly.
Rob, Jos's husband, curiously declines the offer of a swap of apartments.
The afternoon slips by in a blissful haze, culminating in a toast to Jocelyn and short words of appreciation from husband and son Matthew.
Jocelyn had sustained severe burns in accident before coming out and she nearly didn't come, so they have a maid who does everything. She had been cooking some proper Mautitian scran for later. Sadly, this was not for us and we were bundled into our van for the long trip back. To start with we were in high spirits, but that gave way to somnolence, which I was unable to shake off. I went to bed at 9.40, exhausted from doing nothing, and another fantastic day.
Sunday, 24 October 2010
A moving day
Today is a moving day. I'm leaving my studio apartment and going to stay with Peter, Kate and Jen. Mum, dad and Sheila are going home. Most of the Aussie contingent have gone home, just Marie-Claire's lot still here and Viv.
Let me tell you about another couple of distinctive Mauritian tastes while I have an hour to kill.
First of all 'rugae'. It is a tomatoey dish, and I remember it as watery or soupy. That's how I make it at home. Here it seems to be less so. Sheila suggests it is similar to what we know as 'rague'. It could have originated as such, and there's a definite southern European influence to the tastes of Mauritius. The Portuguese were here as well as the French and Dutch, but they didn't stay long. The cuisine seems to be their only legacy, as well as some Mauritian names.
Biscuit Manioc is another taste characteristic of this island. I haven't found any yet. Sweetish and indescribably yummy serve with butter. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.
Gateau Piment, as the name suggests is a chilli cake. It is yellow split peas, soaked over night, then made into balls. They are mixed with salt and chillies and deep fried until crisp. Very moreish, I had thirteen in one go the other day. The split peas expand in your stomach and make you feel full all day. They'll also cure any constipation you might have.
I have talked of Buryani before. Aunty Marceline (Matant)cooks her rice first until nearly complete, then layers in lamb which has been fried in spices and onion. She then finishes off the rice and mixes the layers together just before serving, topping it off with safron.
I'm going to give this a go when I have my Sega party. I might even do it to raise money for the Benett Foundation.
'Mine', pronounced 'minn' is the Mauritian version of Chow Mein. Brought in by the Chinese, who were the main traders and shopkeepers. I haven't seen as many around as I remember. Francis thinks their children may have progressed to better things.
The rest of the day, after moving, is spent on the beach. Juern has discovered so live coral. I'm so pleased, I just hope it survives.
Amongst the vibrant blue tipped antler coral many different coloured fish are grazing. A slightly bigger brown fish looks very grumpy and territorial, rather like Nadjia in a bad mood. As I stand to talk to Jeurn, one of them nips me, and I hurriedly leave their patch. This coral is a bit far out for casual swimmers and doesn't seem to be on a boat route, so it stands a chance at least.
After the beach, a few G n Ts, and hear about Marie-Claire's ear operations and how worrying it has been. A moving story indeed.
Let me tell you about another couple of distinctive Mauritian tastes while I have an hour to kill.
First of all 'rugae'. It is a tomatoey dish, and I remember it as watery or soupy. That's how I make it at home. Here it seems to be less so. Sheila suggests it is similar to what we know as 'rague'. It could have originated as such, and there's a definite southern European influence to the tastes of Mauritius. The Portuguese were here as well as the French and Dutch, but they didn't stay long. The cuisine seems to be their only legacy, as well as some Mauritian names.
Biscuit Manioc is another taste characteristic of this island. I haven't found any yet. Sweetish and indescribably yummy serve with butter. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.
Gateau Piment, as the name suggests is a chilli cake. It is yellow split peas, soaked over night, then made into balls. They are mixed with salt and chillies and deep fried until crisp. Very moreish, I had thirteen in one go the other day. The split peas expand in your stomach and make you feel full all day. They'll also cure any constipation you might have.
I have talked of Buryani before. Aunty Marceline (Matant)cooks her rice first until nearly complete, then layers in lamb which has been fried in spices and onion. She then finishes off the rice and mixes the layers together just before serving, topping it off with safron.
I'm going to give this a go when I have my Sega party. I might even do it to raise money for the Benett Foundation.
'Mine', pronounced 'minn' is the Mauritian version of Chow Mein. Brought in by the Chinese, who were the main traders and shopkeepers. I haven't seen as many around as I remember. Francis thinks their children may have progressed to better things.
The rest of the day, after moving, is spent on the beach. Juern has discovered so live coral. I'm so pleased, I just hope it survives.
Amongst the vibrant blue tipped antler coral many different coloured fish are grazing. A slightly bigger brown fish looks very grumpy and territorial, rather like Nadjia in a bad mood. As I stand to talk to Jeurn, one of them nips me, and I hurriedly leave their patch. This coral is a bit far out for casual swimmers and doesn't seem to be on a boat route, so it stands a chance at least.
After the beach, a few G n Ts, and hear about Marie-Claire's ear operations and how worrying it has been. A moving story indeed.
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