THE mere mention of the name elicits images of azure skies, warm waters, sun-kissed beaches and every other conceivable cliché, complete with a happy couple strolling hand-in-hand with a “Just Married” seal stamped on their bikini-clad bottoms.
For many Europeans (who constitute 66 percent of the tourism market) and local Saffers (leading the way in the 27 percent share of African travellers), Mauritius is indeed the ideal destination.
And why not? With its plethora of exclusive resorts promising to make your every romantic corn-fed fantasy a reality – not to mention the scrumptious cuisine and copious colourful cocktails thrown in for good measure – the aim is to leave you feeling as though you’ve come across a magic lantern from which your own personal genie popped out, declaring the requisite “your wish is my command”.
So what if the whole experience reads like one of those sappy Hallmark cards you always came across in the ’80s?
Tonight was invited to join a select contingent of media who headed off to the Indian Ocean island, for a rare behind-the-scenes glimpse of the goings-on of a MasterChef SA location shoot.
Stepping off the plane at Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam airport, you’re immediately hit by an intense wall of humidity that leaves you feeling as though you’re breathing through a warm, wet cloth (though personally, I’ll happily opt for “balmy” over the Eskimo-temperature aircons encountered in every taxi or tourist-aimed alcove).
Of equal shock to the system is the distinct sense of… simplicity?… paucity?… that strikes you, as you make your way half way across the island from airport to hotel, driving along heart-attack-inducing roads lined with residential properties so close to the curb, an outreached hand could easily make contact.
Despite being something of a world traveller, Mauritius has always managed to escape me. Thus, my notion of this patchwork of European, African and Asian influence has always been determined by tales as told by loved-up honeymooning mates, or the endless pretty pictures that pop out at you from every travel office.
The sort that certainly say nothing of the poverty endured by the typical Mauritian in a country where the average monthly income (working to a six-day week) stands at the equivalent of a miserly R3 021.50, and where the cost of living is disproportionately high, particularly as many items are imported.
The illusion of wealth is compounded by the fact that, on this spec of land spanning only 67km (making it one of the most densely inhabited countries in the world, with roughly 1 600 people per square capita), most of that terrain is taken up by one of the 98 aforementioned resorts (excluding those on Rodrigues Island) that populate the place. More than half of which are of the four- to five-star variety.
It was to just such a setting that we were shuttled on arrival in the dead of night (okay, more like the 8pm mark). Situated along the east coast’s Belle Mare Peninsula, Long Beach is a little village all its own.
Among current affairs pundits, it has the dubious honour of being recognised in relation to Julius “Juju” Malema and his chomma, Limpopo property mogul, David Mabilu, who, back in October 2011, basically booked out the entire venue for his very cheap R15 million nuptials, accommodating Juju – spokesman of the impoverished turned Economic Freedom Fighter who nevertheless has no qualms flying business class and wearing tawdry coloured designer suits – in the most expensive R14 784 p/night suite. But don’t hold that against it.
Built on the site of former tourist favourite, Le Coco Beach Hotel, Long Beach is a haven of eco-friendly tranquillity by day, and a buzzing (but always family friendly) entertainment locale after dark. Like most of the luxury resorts on the island, it is completely self-sustaining, meaning you need never leave its comfortable confines (see sidebar) in order to be guaranteed a good holiday.
For those of us more inclined to explore and experience a sense of indigenous cuisine and culture, however, Mauritius beyond the borders of the perfectly packaged retreats is sorely lacking.
A fellow journo’s brave attempt to sample the street fare (generally served from rickety food caravans or improvised ovens mounted on the back of bicycles) left the rest of us balking, particularly when a packet of what the vendor had deemed “a local delicacy” released a pungent, rotten-egg-like smell once opened.
Also, shebeen-like establishments are what generally pass for restaurants among the residents, so if “rustic” is not to your proclivity, you’ll be hard-pressed to find somewhere suitable, other than your hotel, to wine and dine.
Still, we persevered in our search for homegrown flavour (figurative as well as literal) and so, at our driver’s suggestion, it was off to the bustling beach borough of Flic-en-Flac. As our mini-van pulled up along the bucolic main road situated along the water’s edge, however, we quickly realised that Mauritians have a very different definition of “bustling”.
Save for a few folk doing their rounds, the shuttered shop windows and colourful, but empty, boats bobbing on the lagoon spoke of only one thing: desolation. So much so, I half expected the requisite tumbleweed to tumble on by.
(And as we made our way from place to place over the course of our stay, we realised the sleepy setting of Flic-en-Flac was not the exception, but the norm. All of which kinda threw that whole “densely populated” statistic into question.)
Thus, the pretty postcard photo-op done, it was onwards to the capital, Port Louis.
More town than major metropolis, with its hodgepodge layout, neglected older buildings peppered with flashy mirrored modern ones, garish billboards and stores that are mostly more “tuckshop” than boutique, the city named for French king, Louis XV, is reminiscent of any other typical African urban area. (Our own major cities being the anomaly to the continental standard.)
And while the outdoor market will likely woo tourists from afar, for us Saffers, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before. That being said, there are pockets of charm to be found, in the form of edifices and monuments that reflect the island’s extensive colonial history and cultural diversity throughout the ages.
A stop in at L’Aventure du Sucre (once a sugar factory, now a museum detailing the introduction and cultivation of sugar over the centuries, as well as its favoured by-product, rum!) along with a drive-by of the Pamplemousses botanical gardens, Hindu temples and volcanically conceived Unesco World Heritage Sites, completed our tour.
Which left me wondering what else there was for a visitor to do, if mainstay offerings involving water sports and tedious outdoorsy options like golf or bird-watching aren’t to your taste.
Sure, there are other alternatives, like an afternoon at the Champs de Mars racecourse, or a trip to The Postal Museum where you can spend many a thrilling hour looking at stamps.
But as we made our way back to our lunch venue (another resort – where else?), it suddenly dawned on me that this is precisely the point of a place like Mauritius: it’s not designed to keep you on your toes as you undertake activity after activity, or to scoff down an overpriced meal as you take in the café culture in-between exploring an endless list of historical sites, a la Europe or even Asia.
Rather, it’s the very embodiment of relaxation. Of kicking back. Of perfecting the delicious, delightful art of doing. Absolutely. Nothing. Other than eat, drink and be merry.
And in this regard, Mauritius is on point.
• Tonight was hosted courtesy of World Leisure Holidays, Flight Centre and Tourism Mauritius.
To book your flight out to Mauritius, contact your nearest Flight Centre at www.flightcentre.co.za or 0877 40 5000. For the 4- and 5-star Sun Resorts Mauritian holiday experience, contact World Leisure Holidays at www.wlh.co.za or 0860 954 954.
• MasterChef SA, Thursdays on M-Net (DStv channel 101) at 7.30pm.
A BRIEF HISTORY
THE East African island is named for the Prince of Orange, Maurice of Nassau who, upon his elder half-brother’s death, became the stadtholder (literally “place holder”, referring to a de facto hereditary head of state) of the United Provinces of the Netherlands.
While the island was claimed by the Dutch in 1598 (and officially colonised in 1638), they were not, however, the first to set foot on what can essentially be deemed this man-made paradise.
During the medieval period, Arab traders are believed to have stopped off on the island while making their way along their commercial course, and official documentation reveals that Portuguese explorers first came upon it 1507, after a freak cyclone forced them off their expedition route headed towards the Bay of Bengal.
But back to our brethren from tulips-and-clogs country: essentially completely uncultivated and uninhabited until that point, the Dutch introduced sugarcane in 1639 (the reason for the large-scale depletion of the original forest land), as well as bananas, wild boar, deer and tobacco.
Nevertheless, interminable tropical illnesses that besieged their delicate European constitution, as well as the onslaught of Mother Nature in the form of drought, typhoons and perpetual pest infestations, eventually saw them abandon ship (metaphorically speaking) a mere 70-odd years later.
The clock ticked on for some time, until the French came along in 1715 and claimed ownership over what they imaginatively renamed Isle de France.
No chronicle concerning colonisation would be complete without the British though, and so it was that the stiff-upper-lipped folk invaded the island during the Napoleonic Wars in 1810, wresting control of it when the French capitulated.
As an act of respect in recognition of the French lack of resistance, the Brits agreed to maintain their customs, their Napoleonic law and, of course, their language (not least since a number of the French settlers opted to stay on) – changing only the name to the one we know today, Mauritius.
With the abolition of slavery in 1835, the Brits turned to indentured labourers sourced from another of their colonies, namely India, most of whom never returned to their homeland. (Hence why, at 68 percent of the overall modern Mauritian population, Indians still constitute the majority, with the remaining 32 percent split between Chinese, Creoles, Africans and Europeans.)
Fast-forward some 130 years to 1968 when, voila, Ile de Maurice finally gained independence.
GRUB’S UP!
HAVING established that the street food and local eateries are strictly reserved for the audacious (or foolhardy), the island’s resorts are the safest and tastiest avenue of gastronomic exploration.
La Pirogue: Should seafood be your favoured flavour, indulge in a late afternoon lunch comprising a starter of seared yellow fin tuna with papaya, avocado and fresh palmheart seaweed pearls, followed by a crumble-in-your-mouth main course of baked baby snapper, stuffed with ratatouille and freckled with passion fruit butter sauce.
Sugar Beach: No meal is complete without a sprinkling of sugar to tickle your sweet tooth. Take a short stroll across the manicured lawns to La Pirogue’s swankier sister (which has a distinct Sun City in its Sol Kerzner heyday feel about it), where a decadent degustation
of desserts awaits.
Le Touessrok: Renowned worldwide, its soft sand beach and beautiful wooden thatched suites are spectacular to behold. Pull up a chair at the Sega Bar on a rainy afternoon, where you can idly sip away at basil leaf cocktails or, if it’s a smattering of spice rather than herb you’re after, a delicious prawn curry at Barlen’s will send your taste buds into a state of bliss.
Ambre: While it may not enjoy the same reputation among the super rich as some of its counterparts, our dining experience at the resort’s Dolce Vita restaurant was undoubtedly the crown jewel of our diverse Mauritian menus.
From the Australian carpaccio marinated with olive oil and fresh basil, to the potato gnocchi showered with crab meat and tomato sauce, to the chicken stuffed with pine nuts, pesto, grilled veggies and thyme – the whole experience was simply sensational!
LIFE ON LONG BEACH
OCCUPYING a massive 23.8ha site, Long Beach operates as something of a self-sustaining community, complete with five themed restaurants, three bars, its own disco, two pools (three, if you include the lap pool), a gym and assorted other sports facilities including a tennis court, a jogging track and climbing wall on land, as well as water sports for the more adventurous, varied daily entertainment throughout the resort, both a kids and a teens’ club, its very own stretch of private beach and, of course, plush accommodation facilities, all of which are sea-facing.
Adding to the community feel is the fact Long Beach is the only resort on the island to boast a central piazza, where all can gather for a coffee, a drink, a dance or just a good ol’ natter.
The eco-conscious can revel in the luxury guilt-free: solar panels produce hot water; sun protection frames largely reduce the need for air-conditioning and eco-lighting is used throughout.
A sanctuary of serenity, the Sea Spa, featuring its very own hammam (Turkish bath), is an absolute must (the therapists may look petite, but their nimble hands work magic on your stressed-out muscles).
For added extravagance of the culinary kind, the open-air poolside eatery, Tides, serves up some of the freshest, most succulent fish dishes you’re likely to savour, topped off with dangerously delectable cocktails (try the curry leaf mojito)!
And if you’re travelling with a group and looking to impress, why not enlist the talents of general manager-cum-Michelin-starred chef, Vladimir Scanu?
His ingeniously innovative set menu for our final night dinner had even MasterChef SA judges, Benny, Pete and Reuben scrunching in their seats out of sheer intimidation!