Mauritius by James Henderson

As ever, a visit to the tropics floods the mind and body with luxurious sensations. Consciously I knew that I had never been to Mauritius before, but the smells on the humid air made it all too familiar. There was the raging fertility, of rich, red earth steaming after rain, and jasmine on the night air. And the sights were familiar too. Coral beaches and waves that broke on offshore reefs, waving curtains of sugarcane (those car ads with exploding canefields were filmed in Mauritius apparently) and that outdoor, streetfront life. The very shape of the island can look familiar: isolated in the Indian Ocean Mauritius’s soars from the blue ocean depths. Its jumbled volcanic peaks stand like furniture hidden under green dust-sheets.

But the idiosyncracies emerge as soon as you get out and explore. Mauritius’s distinctive atmosphere resides in its complex heritage: Indian faces and African style, French speech, broken down and reordered into Creole, and a curious overlay of Britain, now fading since Mauritius took independence in 1968 but still distinct. It pops up in surprising moments--magnificent Morris Oxford Cars, policemen with black and white flashes on their peaked caps. It can be surreal sometimes. Whoever would have thought there would be a Mr Whippy ice cream van—it’s unfeasible I know, but I promise you I saw one.

And like any outdoor life, you are forcibly joined in. One afternoon I found myself sucked into a gathering on the streetside in a village near the admirably named town of Pamplemousses. A bevvy of Mauritian Mums was examining the wares of a travelling salesman, rooting around in the back of his van—cloth, dresses and kitchen utensils. Vans drive out from central shops and sell in the country villages here. Amid the banter I was quizzed--what did I think of that particular material; go on, why didn’t I buy a cheese-grater...? The fact that I was only looking for directions didn’t seem to matter in all the excitement.

In fact I was asking my way to the Botanical Gardens. When eventually I got there I was struck again by the irony of tropical botanical gardens--why is that they always look less fertile than the land around them? But the Mauritius Royal Botanical Gardens are well worth a visit. They are calm, pretty and stunningly green, and popular with the Mauritians for weekends picnics.

Pamplemousses actually takes its name from a variety of grapefruit, which is just the sort of thing that they would have grown in the garden in the early days of settlement, when food was cultivated for passing ships (fruit was vital for preventing scurvy in those days). Eventually the gardens became more ornamental and this is largely what you see today, with an avenue of huge royal palms and the ponds with their vast lilies, frilly edged saucers a metre or more across. You might also see the talipot palm, which flowers only once, just before it dies, and which provides the finest and most expensive straw for the women’s hat trade.

Down on the coast, the roar of the sea is a permanent backdrop to life in Mauritius. Though the island is of volcanic origin, corals have encrusted her flanks and over the millenia these have built reefs, growing farther and farther out to sea. They are still growing of course—out where the breakers are, more than a mile offshore in many cases. Within them there are protected lagoons with perfect white sand. (White sand is largely dissolved reef.)

The result is that Mauritius has electrifyingly bright corals and fish. By chance I found a cloud of fish-fry, thousands of transparent proto-fish all facing in the same direction, jiggling on the flow of the current. As I moved through them they swirled around me like smoke, taking up position again. And of course the island has some superb beaches, perfect for lying around on, intensive relaxation, face buried in the sand.

Relaxation was one reason for being in Mauritius, but my other reason was a more energetic one. I was taking part in a race, the Mauritius Raid, four days of strenuous activity; mountain-biking, kayaking, canoeing, canyoning and rollerblading. This gave me a more intimate exposure to the Mauritius interior—suddenly the mountains weren’t like inert pieces of furniture. They were steep, sweaty, slippery and full of barbed creepers.

For an island that fits into a plane window as you fly in, Mauritius is unexpectedly big when you are running around it. We hiked and ran through the jungle and flatlands, mountain-biked through the muddy uplands and agricultural plains--passing fields of tea and endless sugar plantations, washerwomen with their laundry laid out all over the river rocks and the occasional pretty old plantation house with wraparound veranda. We swam and kayaked offshore, coping with passing rainstorms and flying fish with a bouncing bomb complex (they kept leaping out of the water and bumping into us). And finally we rollerbladed. Surprisingly, for a mountainous country, Mauritius’s roads are smooth and flat enough to skate on. Or that was the theory anyway. Clearly some teams had not had a lot of practise at this sport, judging by the bruises and abrasions in the medical tent. The Mauritians loved it though, encouraging us as we scooted along the country roads.

The most unexpected feature of Mauritius is the canyons. Again for a small island it seemed extraordinary to come across fissures hundreds of feet deep cut in to the land. The canyons are jumbled with black volcanic boulders, which catch the waterfalls and form warm water pools. We scrambled, swam abseiled and occasionally, hearts in our mouths, jumped—thirty to forty feet in to the bubbling water below. You don’t need to be in a race to do all of these sports of course. They can be arranged from the hotel.

As a French-organised race we ate extremely well. Each evening there was a barbecue meal on the beach—including smoked island fish such as tuna and marlin—more than any athlete could ask. But that was just the start. Once the race was over it was time to explore again.

The cuisine of Mauritius is as mixed as its cultural heritage. The British haven’t left that much behind as it happens, though you will see roast beef served occasionally, but French cuisine, adapted to the tropics, is everywhere. As is the Indian influence, with curries and biryanis providing colour as well as a certain familiar shock to the palate. Chinese food is also popular—there has always been a small community of Chinese in Mauritius.

Mauritians are also partial to a snack, sold by streetside vendors who cook up on charcoal braziers, fanning the flames with a flourish--another excellent exposure to the outdoor life. There are familiar snacks—bhajis, dhall and samosas--but you will also find some specifically Mauritian ones, including brèdes, green leaves cooked with meat or fish, and delightful sweetmeats like gateau batate, made with sweet potato and coconut. The fact that I only wanted a small snack of course hardly seemed the point. The small crowd that had gathered seemed to insist that I try everything. Oh well. That’s the tropics for you.