I meet Heidi on the dock to go out for a drive and maybe some shopping if anything is open. While standing there, we manage to convince Rosemary to come with us.
We head for the north of the island. It’s wonderful to get away from Port Louis and this is the first time I have managed it in nearly a week. We start off by looking for a cashmere factory shop that Heidi spotted when she was out last. She knows roughly where to look but on the way we stop at a nice beach where there are some Hindu shrines and women making offerings of food to the gods. As we have no guide with us, we have no idea what is going on but it makes for pretty pictures anyway.
We drive around towards the north of the island, past little fishing villages rather than built up resorts although there are plenty of those scattered around other parts.
Here life goes on at a leisurely pace, unhindered by tourism and coexisting alongside it as if it doesn’t exist, although it is in the top three industries on the island along with sugar production (and its by-products, namely rum) and textiles.
There are houses of worship of all descriptions everywhere, both private and public and many more being built. Religion is definitely flourishing here in Mauritius and they seem to rub along together just fine, at least to the outside, casual observer.
We give up driving around looking for the cashmere factory and head back the way we came, suddenly driving past it just yards from where we turned the car around a few hours earlier when we thought we had made a wrong turn. It’s closed anyway as it’s Sunday.
In Pamplemousses near the botanical gardens, we find a large shop selling top quality products aimed at tourists. We go in for a look – I am looking for a bright pink pashmina and they have one in the exact colour but at 200 Euros it’s very definitely the wrong price. The sales guy is one of those who doesn’t give up, telling me that my husband will love me much more and think me far more beautiful than before if I buy a couple of his wonderful wraps and wear them for him. I tell him that he doesn’t know my husband and escape with my purse intact!
By this time Heidi’s tummy is telling us it’s time to eat and she recommends the restaurant at the sugar museum. The setting is beautiful and we are soon sitting and ordering a nice lunch. Rosemary and I are sure that Mike and Bill will be sitting on their respective boats waiting for us to return and feed them. Casey is more resourceful and will probably tend to his own needs!
On the way back to the boat we pass mile after mile of sugar cane fields at all different stages in the cycle of sugar production. Some areas are just starting to grow, others are waiting to be harvested and some is being burned. You can smell the molasses in the air and see the thick smoke given off by the chimneys and the burning fields of stubble.
In the distance I can see the distinctive rock formation of a cone like structure with a ball on the top, caused, I presume, by years of wind erosion. The story is that if that ball ever falls, that will be the end of Mauritius.
We go to the supermarket on the way back to the marina and I manage to buy the flaky Indian parathas that Mike and I love so much but have been unable to buy since St Martin. I only buy one packet to see if they are as good – I’ll stock up later in the week if they are.
When we get back to the boats I discover that Mike has been getting on with lots of little jobs, but as expected, hasn’t eaten. I cook him three of the parathas, then we have an afternoon nap. In the evening, still refusing to cook after that vile, vile journey getting here, we get a take away Chinese which is mediocre, or maybe we just choose badly. I always seem to do that with Chinese.
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