Backlogged Blogs: Mauritius

Little Island, Big Deal
(Mauritius)

The administration did not start-off our visit to Mauritius on the best note.  The pre-port presentation left me feeling extremely unhappy.  A professor essentially said that Mauritius has no culture and that we all should just go to the beaches and drink: “this is spring break.”  I think that some of the Mauritian people, who live there year-round, especially the large percentage of the population who do not drink due to religious constraints, would disagree.  At least a little bit.

I set-out to do what we had been forbidden to do: cultural stuff.

The first day, I went on a trip to the Jummah Masjid in the center of Port Louis.  About half of the population of Mauritius is Hindu, but the Muslim population has a great influence in political and cultural affairs.

Visiting the mosque was actually very pleasant, even though it was a Semester at Sea sponsored trip.  Only two other students went: one in his thirties and one from the Ukraine.  The other people who attended were Lifelong Learners and a professor.  We were welcomed warmly by various figures of the mosque.  They showed us the beautiful architecture, including some unique features, such as the washroom having been constructed around some trees.  They fed us a wonderful briyani and talked about various current issues in Islam; they answered questions ranging from whether or not Muhammad was actually illiterate to why Muslim leaders “have not organized a protest against terrorism.”

Figures of the mosque, as well as common attendees who had been invited to meet us, were happy to discuss a variety of secular things with us, as well, particularly our education.  One member of the mosque has been living in the United States for fifteen years, was educated at Princeton and works on Wall Street; before anyone asks, yes, he had a ring on his finger.

We climbed back into the bus and headed again to our ship.  Perhaps unsurprisingly, the unconventional, radical rebel-child I am, I decided not to go out that night; I did not think to ask the folks at the mosque what I might be able to do in Mauritius after sundown, other than get drunk on Phoenix at the beach.  I had a fine time staying-up late with Natascha and Leo.  I got the idea to ditch my snorkeling trip I had scheduled for the next day and go on some sort of other unapproved, cultural, alcohol-free, non-beach, adventure with Natascha, instead.
So, day two: the awful, cultural, geological, social, spiritual, respectful, delicious, alcohol-free, active, ridiculous Mauritian adventure.

Natascha and I set-off with a couple of Lifelong Learners (Louisa and Gayle), a senior staff member (Betty) and the wife of a professor (Julie).  Interestingly enough, our driver for the day was the same man who brought the group to the mosque the day prior.  Yippie!

Our first stop was at the top of an inactive volcano.  The location provided a stunning view of much of the island, and the crater, once hot and red with lava, is now the most luscious cool green with foliage.

We carried on to the site of an enormous Shiva.  No, really, this one is a BIG boy.  With palms large enough to hold several adult men comfortably, it is impeccable to regard the detail of the figure, made on-location entirely of terracotta.  In a fountain surrounding the huge god, water flows. 

Nearby, different water sits; this is not just any water, though—this is water imported from the Ganges, so that the Hindu population in Mauritius does not need to fly to India to make pilgrimage.  Perhaps, the most interesting part of the whole ordeal is that the government paid for the entire operation to be carried-out.

The water forms a lake, surrounded by small shrines to different Hindu deities.  Just as many tourists come to gawk as Hindus come to make offerings.

The lake is peaceful, with the exception of a few areas where schools of fish flock and compete to nibble on flower petals being offered to the Ganges, as well as bits of human food being given directly to them.

After relaxing for a while in the area, we headed to our next destination.  We were going to Black River Gorge, a lovely geological site, but we were getting ourselves into far much more than any of us had bargained for.  It all started with some sugar cane juice, but it progressed into drinking from a coconut: it was Natascha’s first time, and it took her a while to comprehend how exactly the water got into the coconut, but she understands well enough, now.  Or, at least she agrees that it is not put there magically.

The pathway was cluttered with folks trying to sell all sorts of jewelry and other Mauritian momentos: everyone has their own style of dodo they hold-up to tourists with pride.

A few men tried to test us with “the magic box,” but it was too simple to amuse us.

But they got me on one thing: it was a little puppet styled to look like Little Red Riding Hood, but when you lifted up her skirt and flipped her over (scandalous, I know!), she became her grandmother.  They also had Snow White and the Witch, amongst other fairytales.  I thought about it before buying one to bring to the kids I knew I’d be seeing in India.  I’m a sucker for clever things, truly.

We had a lovely lunch at a local restaurant.  I had some curry, and we all split a caramelized banana and some pineapple mousse for dessert.  Exquisite is one way to put it, and it is an entirely accurate way to put it.  A duck obnoxiously quacked at us throughout the duration of our lunch and went so far as to pursue us in front of the restaurant.  I threatened that if he didn’t shut-up, he’d be joining the dodo; either that, or he’d at least be on the menu.

We voyaged toward the Seven-Colored Earth, an area of land created after a volcano erupted with seven distinctive colors rippling through its hills.  I had an overwhelming desire to run around on top of all of it, given the similarity in appearance to sanddunes, but that was definitely not allowed, so I definitely did not do it.

The return to the ship was wonderful; we jammed out to some sega while enjoying the beautiful countryside.  The Lifelong Learners have so much life in them, they put many of us students to shame.  We stopped for a quick bit at a beach, just to dip our sore feet into the Indian Ocean and marvel at its beauty. After that, we happened to hit some traffic coming back into port.  The line to get back on the ship was huge.  One of the LLC’s, Jodi, my “shipboard Mom,” was going through the line telling people that if they did not have any bags, they could move to the front of the line.  It was about six minutes until “on-ship time,” and it was about twelve minutes until we were at the front of the line.  Louisa, exhausted, forehead decorated with a smeared bindhi, offered to take bags for Natascha and I, so that we would not get dock time for the next port.  She got dock time, instead.  It was such an incredibly sweet and unnecessary thing for her to have done.