sweet as
T 108 | www.hermagazine.co.nz
Mauritius is a slow-paced Indian Ocean pearl with perfect beaches, loads of sunshine and a unique culture. Liz Light stays in a small town and watches the world go by.
TEA PROCESSING, VALLEY VIEWS, waterfalls, an historic British battle tower, a vintage salt-making system; Sam drives our hire car from place to place and thing to thing. At the end of the day, I feel crotchety and exhausted. Enough sightseeing. We decide to slow down, relinquish the car and stay put in Mahebourg for a few days. Mahebourg is not Mauritius' biggest town, nor is it on the sunny
north coast where luxurious tourist resorts string along white coral beaches. But it's big enough to be interesting (population 16,000) and small enough to be able to walk around; we soon love its easygoing lack of pretension. It turns out that our stay here is also busy but in a relaxed way. I
learn to appreciate, if not like, the little dogs that live across the road from Coco Villa, and start yapping at 5.30 every morning. This is the time the sun rises and fishermen load their gear into their boats, pole out over the shallows and set sail for the gap in the reef that leads to the vast fish-filled Indian Ocean. Coco Villa, on the waterfront, has kitsch décor (pink chiffon
curtains tied bouffant style with glittering butterfly clips) and a water- torture drip in the toilet cistern that, when finally full packs a hefty flush, but it's not expensive and the family who own it are delightful. I love it that our room's balcony is perfectly positioned to view the next- door cove and the sea beyond and I get up with the dogs to observe morning activities. Fishermen arrive at their boats on bicycles, baskets of gear slung
either side of the handlebars and some have an outboard motor balanced on one shoulder. Two or three men per boat methodically set the pirogue-style sail, catch the wind and zoom into the sunrise. I nurse a cup of tea and soon, when the sun is low and bright and
most of the boats in the cove have gone, people come down to the lagoon and wade knee deep, looking for molluscs. Others, with their fishing gear in brightly woven baskets, settle in to fish off either end of the rocky breakwater. At eight it's breakfast time; crusty French bread, pineapple marmalade, tea spiced with a freshly crushed cloves and a plate of fruit – papaya, pineapple and small sweet bananas. Sam and I walk to the museum on the edge of town, along lanes
not designed for cars. There are no footpaths, houses open straight on to the lanes, children walk to school, granddads escort their little tots, men ride old bicycles to work and yellow dogs curl up in shady places. Cars making their way down these small streets defer to all of this.
sweet as
the sun is low and bright and most of the boats in the cove have gone, people come down to the lagoon and wade knee deep, looking for molluscs."
"I nurse a cup of tea and soon, when
