Modern Mauritius by Barbara Erasmus

It’s twenty years since we last visited this scenic Indian Ocean island and progress is evident from the moment we touch down at a first world airport which makes our departure point at Durban International look decidedly shabby by comparison. Our genial taxi-driver gives us our first exposure to the laid-back charm of the Mauritian people. He seems completely unfazed by the challenge of loading eleven golf-bag bearing adults plus a baby into his combi.

‘No problem!” he assures us with a strong French accent. We are relieved to find that his claim that our luggage could all be tied to the roof with string was merely a vocabulary error - all was strapped on securely as we set off to our destination along well-maintained tarred roads. Signs of the booming Mauritian economy are everywhere, from the poor exchange rate for our rand to multiple construction sites. We pass modern residential developments, shopping malls featuring international brand-names and bill-boards advertising cosmetic surgery at budget prices. I’m relieved when the road narrows as we approach Grand Baie where tumbling bougainvillea, multi-hued hibiscus and palm-lined streets suggest the tropical paradise promised in the brochures we picked up at the airport.

Neither locals or foreigners are allowed to purchase sea-front property in Mauritius but investment is encouraged through an integrated resort scheme which also holds the possibility of Mauritian citizenship with it’s beguiling fifteen percent tax-rate for both corporates and individuals. One of our party has rented a recently completed residential complex and we are beside ourselves with glee as we explore the luxuriously appointed penthouse with a deck which affords a panoramic sea view. Our second apartment is equally exciting, opening directly onto white sands - a couple of steps and we’re paddling in the clear, warm waters of a tropical ocean. The holiday is officially underway!

I’m glad I’m not an artist as we take up our on-deck positions on a catamaran trip to an uninhabited island. No palette of blues could capture the shifting play of light and depth which turns the water from aquamarine to azure and the impossible royal blue of the deeper waters off-shore. I pray that my little digital camera is able to rise to the occasion as I aim it at mountain views, passing sails and rocky islands. Our Creole crew are charming and attentive as they ply us with rum cocktails, moving rhythmically in response to the reggae beat pulsing in the background. We show a lot less agility as we clamber down into the dingy which transports us to the island. Our footprints are the only ones on the sand. It feels like a private kingdom as we float aimlessly in calm waters under the bluest of skies. We feel even more pampered as we return to an on-board barbeque of fish and chicken. It soon becomes clear that our crew are more skilled as sailors than as chefs but we’re easily diverted by a few more shots of Green Island rum.

Long lazy days pile up as we stroll the palm-fringed beach front and bask by the pool with our books. The cell-phones never ring. It seems against the rules to get anywhere on time. We chat to German tourists who know all about crime in Johannesburg and world cup soccer - the locals still sound smug about their defeat of the luckless Bafana-Bafana. South Africa could take some tips from Mauritius about its bus-service which is regular, efficient and cost-effective – fifteen rupees (five rand) for a trip that costs two hundred and fifty rupees (sixty-five rand) by taxi – and even more if you travel after dark. Our favourite form of transport is a water-taxi, racily entitled Babelaas, which offers a scenic trip to town, depositing us on the private beach of a top hotel - doubtless illegal because it bypasses the ever-vigilant security guards at the gate who charge an exorbitant entry fee to keep the rabble at bay.

We browse through a kaleidoscope of sarongs and bikinis in the well-stocked shops in atmospheric Grand Baie and snack on calamari at a sea-side café. We rush out into the street in response to wild hooting from cars and floats festooned with flags and flowers for the Tamil New Year celebrations. The festival is celebrated in the month of Chitthai when legend has it that Lord Brahma started creation. Certain products are thought to promise good fortune during the year and we pass people praying at freshly-erected shrines, decorated with items such as areca nuts, betel and mango leaves, reputed to bring good fortune in the year ahead. The sound of music and partying extends well into the night on the beaches adjoining our complex with fire-crackers that sound like machine-guns.

Tourism is a major pillar of the economy and even the cordial Creoles are out to make a fast buck. Price should always be negotiated before purchase – even for an ice-cream. We have to part with four hundred rupees (a hundred and twenty rand) for two soft-serve cones which we rashly order from a colourful ice-cream van which drives up and down on the road beside the beach. The other vendors are outraged when we tell them what we paid for our rapidly-melting ice-creams. “Call the police!” they yell, outraged at any negative publicity for the island but we manage to persuade them that an ice-cream is not worth a civil suit.

We make a similar error when we visit the local fish market where we select a plump, fleshly specimen highly recommended by the fisherman in question. We later learn that we were charged three times the going rate and our fish proves almost inedible, despite our efforts with tinfoil and delicately sliced tomato on the braai. We abandon home-cooking and meander over to the local restaurant down the road where we feast on dorado, red snapper and giant prawns, all cooked to perfection. We bond with Gigi the genial chef who tells us he has made his fortune in the thriving Mauritian racing industry – we’re introduced to an international jockey who’s visiting the island for the lengthy racing season.

The golfers in our team set off on various occasions for a needle competition between right and left-handers which will afford the winners bragging rights for the remainder of the trip. The courses were scenic and offered rates comparable to a round on South African estates like Arabella and Pinacle Point. The new Ernie Els course near San Geran is in a different league at one hundred and seventy euros for non-members - that’s over two thousand rand. Both our left and right handed golfers decided to give that one a miss.

Mauritius is as an expensive holiday at current exchange rates and the wide variety of hotel packages available are undoubtedly a good option to consider. But browsing around foreign supermarkets always holds glamour and no banquet can rival baguettes and local cheeses, sipping wine on the deck with old friends, sporting bare feet and swimming costumes. Viva self-catering! And viva Mauritius!