Mauritius, along with its island brethren in the western Indian Ocean, peeks out of the water and looks around with a tectonic infancy, perplexed at the pall of sobriety forever hanging over the colossus landmasses surrounding it… for these young volcanic assemblages have seen the same colonial tribulations as the wizened mainland, but unlike them, have managed to take it in their stride, shrugged off the unwanted legacies with nonchalance, and charted a new course…
We had a week to while away in this pear-shaped tropical outcrop… some proclaimed might be too much time for an island as small as this, but since the plan was to scourge the island’s hinterland rather than fritter away on its coastline, it turned out to be a week less in the end…
Stepping out of the airport, we were surprisingly not as fatigued as we’d expected, considering almost twelve hours of travel due to a connecting flight and its associated rigmaroles… hiring a self-drive vehicle at the airport itself since there wasn’t much urban paraphernalia to be explored on foot, we set off towards the southwest of the island… from Jawaharlal Nehru Hospital to Indian Oil petrol pumps to creolized Indian names to dealing in the rupee, we knew we were in for the familiarly unfamiliar as we rambled along the highway…
The lush rainforest of the Black River Gorges National Park was our first port of call, which despite being infested with a variety of invasives, remains perhaps the best specimen of the island’s native ecosystems, the rest being devoured primarily by that colonial avarice called sugar, followed by the other one called timber… more than sixty percent of the island’s indigenous species are already classified as extinct, epitomized by the Dodo, who survives through its ubiquitous idiom…
Pleasant weather and a forest with well-marked trails was a temptation too good to resist, and we drove to southern Black River entrance in the afternoon, where I duly headed out for a run as the wife loafed around the forest… starting with the jeep tracks and then inevitably meandering on to single tracks, I trudged up from the base of the valley to the top and then back down again, shaking off the travel fatigue in the process… rather comforting to be able to meander through thickets at any time of the day without the fear of any large mammal taking offence… talk about island life…
Late afternoon saw us heading to the Tamarin beach… the crowds, combined with our inability to swim and hence miss out on water-based adventures, were enough to convince us that we could give its neighbouring, and more popular, Flic-en-Flac beach a pass… after an early dinner, we called it a day, letting the air miles snooze themselves out…
Next morning saw us drive to the Le Morne Brabandt peninsula, the five-hundred-odd-metre basaltic rock at its centre the focus of my attention… the region is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, by dint of the lore that those escaping slavery scrambled up to take refuge on the mountain and fearing re-enslavement, jumped to their death as the police approached, ironically to inform them about the abolition of slavery and their enslavement… a rather stoic tale to mull upon as one winds their way up…
The initial part of the trail was a rather straightforward jeep track but the last couple of hundred metres of climbing involved a rather precarious scramble up the rock with a decent amount of exposure, quite manageable on a dry day but avoidable if it rains for some parts climb right up the water channel… I could only go till the lower summit, about sixty metres lower than the actual summit which would require a technical setup… the lower summit has a large metal cross installed in the memory of the marooned slaves… why a cross though beats me, for I don’t think they would have subscribed to Christianity, especially after what it was doling out to them… but the views were magnificent, emerald green and azure blue drawing margin around green fields with dotted houses…
On the way down, we took a short detour over the Valley of the Bones trail, a small grove where the bones of those who’d leapt to their death were discovered… tree roots growing over a large boulder seemed a rather fitting tribute, a poignant reminder that nature quietly subsumes the trivialities that humanity considers profound, and moves on…
Getting down from the mountain, we drove to its base from the other side to visit the Slave Route Monument, a set of sculptures installed in a park to carve out the dark history of slavery for posterity… ‘tis interesting how island nations that bore its brunt have not let history dissipate but held it up as a mirror for the imperialists of the yore, lest they forget their own ‘jungles’ sitting inside the ‘gardens’ they claim to have built, and those that are trying to step into their shoes today… looking at the history of imperialism and slavery, one feels like Europe never emerged from the dark ages, it simply found a way to transplant it elsewhere… the irony of the fact that a golf course lay on the other side of the road wasn’t lost on me either…
We drove back slightly pensive, the rejuvenation of the climb counterpoised by its dark history… I’d still hadn’t had enough of running inside Black River Gorges NP, so after lunch, it was back the lower entry gate again, and a different trail this time to the base of Alexandra Falls, a six kilometre out-and-back trail which was more of a rocky scramble along and across myriad streams… I then supplemented with another jog up and down another trail to complete my distance quota… physically well spent, we had dinner at an Indian restaurant to call it another early night for another early start the next day…
Next morning once again found us at the national park, this time the entry gate at Petrin, the higher plateau area which required a longer drive… the objective today was birdwatching with a guide, after going through the conservation breeding centre for the endemic Pink Pigeon – which has bounced back from nine individuals – we started scouring the wild flora for avians…
It wasn’t a very successful sojourn in terms of avians, though we did spot the Mauritius bulbul, the Mauritius fody, the Mauritius grey white-eye (quite endearingly called ‘pic pic’) and a brief glimpse of a flying Echo parakeet… we were really vying for the Mauritius kestrel, the only raptor on the island but it wasn’t to be… five endemics weren’t bad enough though, and there were quite a few Crab-eating macaques as well, an invasive species, and rather timid compared to their counterparts that we engage with back home… ‘twas in the end a long conversation with our guide, a third generation Gujarati immigrant, punctuated with some sightings…
Tempted by the wide-open trails and expansive views from the plateau, including that of the Black River peak, the island’s highest mountain which I didn’t eventually find the time to climb… a little regret but not much since ‘tis supposed to be a rather straightforward walk up to the summit anyway… I went back into the park for a run after we ended our five-hour hike, placing faith in my hiking gear to bear with me for this one session, and the walk had been gentle enough so there wasn’t much exhaustion anyway…
First half of the day well spent, we wound our way back… with little traffic, familiar left-hand driving, everything within a couple of hours, and excellent road etiquette, save the Ashok Leyland buses whose Indian drivers seemed to be fiercely protecting the legacy of their homeland, driving in the island was quite undemanding and rather enjoyable… I’d started with my own playlists on the stereo but soon switched over to the Hindi and Bhojpuri (and sometime French) radio stations, tickled by their accents… after a late afternoon lunch, we just whiled away for the rest of the day…
The next morning was devoted to run-of-the-mill activities… but not before I had one last run inside the national park to bid adieu to these enchanting forest trails… a fifteen-minute helicopter ride over the south coast to see the optical illusion known as the ‘underwater waterfall’… followed by the Chamarel seven coloured earth geopark, a scrubbed out piece of rock fenced and put on display – with some giant Aldabra tortoises imported from the Seychelles thrown in for variety… reminded me of the song Big Yellow Taxi…
Leaving the south coast at noon, we started to make our way towards the north, past small towns and sugarcane fields feeling dreary in the afternoon sun… ‘twas the beginning of summer so we were spared the peak heat and humidity, and could still roll down the car window at will… with plenty of time to spare, we decided to make a halt at the capital city of Port Louis and visit the Aapravasi Ghat, the second of the two UNESCO World Heritage Sites in the country…
The structure itself was rather underwhelming, an unpretentious building by the harbour, but the interpretation centre was well embellished, letting one mull over the centuries of colonial shenanigans… putting up a front of moral righteousness by banning slavery while carrying out business-as-usual in the form of indentured labour… almost half a million migrants passed through these shores, mostly Indian… some staying on the island, others moving on further to other colonies like the Caribbean… the modern day demographics, and the polity, reflect this migration today…
While going through these annals, what struck me were the motivations that were ascribed for labour willing to undertake these journeys… while narratives range from the lure of money to being hoodwinked into submission, one factor I felt what was missing was the possibility of the desire to get away from the social stigma and discrimination that existed in the Indian society, like the caste system… the temptation to get away and start a new life, even at the cost of physical and mental suffering… for despite all its pitfalls, the indentured labour system did end up weakening pre-existing caste structures…
Musing thus, we carried on towards the north, arriving at Grand Baie in the late afternoon… this was a vanilla beachside destination, as a walk along the beach corroborated… and also the fact that we could not drink tap water here… situated thus, we went out to try a Greek restaurant, chosen purely on the dint of its name… The Trojan Horse… and then called it a day… the accommodation today quite rustic but rather cramped compared to what we’d be revelling in at Black River… not the kind to be spending a lot of time indoors…
Next morning saw us on a catamaran tour to Gabriel Island, an hour and a half off the coast… I’d tried looking for a birding tour without any luck, so resigning to the fact that this wasn’t the best place to scour around for wildlife tours, we just went along for these “good times” excursions… there wasn’t much for us to do on the island… there was some avifauna but the tropicbirds, always airborne, were too quick and we didn’t have any interest in the red whiskered bulbuls… snorkelling wasn’t our and the sand was piping hot, so we just sat on the beach and got our share of sunburns watching the corals till ‘twas time to be return… this time accompanied by food and music…
Like birding, I’d been trying to find a guide to climb Pieter Both but to no avail… the island’s second highest peak, it has an interesting rock formation at the top that requires fixing ropes and hence couldn’t be attempted solo… but this time luck smiled and one guide responded for a tour leaving early the next morning… packing up a bit to save time in the morning, we again crashed early again…
Starting at around seven in the morning, a half an hour’s drive found us at a sports complex in the village of La Laura-Malenga… turned out I’d crashed a group of four celebrating the birthday of one of their friends, but I had no other option, both in terms of a guide or the itinerary, hence I shamelessly tagged along with the group… interestingly, everybody in the group was of Indian origin with varied levels of creolized names, their banter was unintelligible to me but they were kind enough to switch to English to make me comfortable…
In terms of distance, this was hardly anything, about a four kilometre round trip… half a kilometre of jeep road followed by a kilometre of steep scramble up a water channel till the “shoulder”, after which we roped up… from the “shoulder” to the “neck” there was one ten to fifteen-metre cleft that was technical, the rest was a careful stroll up following the fixed rope just as a precaution against the exposure…
The “head” is the pièce de resistance of the climb, the rock weathered to a mushroom or a rounded shape due to which the climb has to be on a negative overhang… there are metal rungs bolted on to the rock that one can grab for support, not without a rope though as they are rusted and not really trustworthy…
It’d been a while since I’d done ropework so it was fun, also this was the first time I used a Prusik knot for actual climbing… one always learnt it for theory and then used jumars for actual climbing so it was interesting to use it in real life… the summit was a revelation, ‘twas interesting to be able to see an entire country from a vantage point… cakes and food at the summit to celebrate the birthday followed by photo sessions, and we descended after about an hour at the summit… the entire hike took about six hours, mostly because it was done very leisurely…
Back at the base, we took to the road again, the wife had to spend half a day loitering about the parking lot so reparations had to be made at the earliest… another hour of driving saw us at town of Mahébourg on the southeast of the island… its planned street layout reflecting its colonial heritage… the Airbnb was located right on the waterfront… reparations made… another early dinner, and then we just lounged about the accommodation soaking in its vibes…
‘Twas drizzling the next morning as I stepped out for a run, but it fizzled out soon after… not finding any long beaches to trot, I kept to the road… moving past small villages amidst posh villas, one mused how the segregations of colonialism haven’t really disappeared but evolved with the times, adapting their guise to changing world orders… for me, coming from the legacy of British imperialism, this French flavour was perhaps a novelty, but nothing has changed at the core really if one looks closely…
Today was our last day so I was ordained to take it easy and leave sufficient time for shopping, hence we wound our way up to Ganga Talao, a crater lake now taken over by the merchants of Hinduism, replete with all the props including large statues of Shiv and Parvati… true to the tradition, plenty of macaques were loafing about to pose with the tourists in return for treats… this would’ve been such a placid site to mull over the volcanic origins of the island if not for this paraphernalia, but then, who are we to point a finger at our own export… the drive to and from the lake was very scenic though, past tea gardens and rolling hills…
We tried a couple of monuments back at Mahébourg, but they were rather artificial and drab… so I packed the camera away and decided to fritter away time… the wife found her joie de vivre around souvenir shops as I loafed and sat around, the tables now turned… we had lunch at a cosy little restaurant after which we made our way back to the Airbnb, lounging about the balcony to ocean views…
A twenty-minute drive saw us at the airport the next morning… as the plane gained height and the pear shape of the island came emerged out of the water once more, one felt a moment of rumination… a volcanic outcrop belying its geographic insignificance with the sheer volume human history it embosoms… turning the atrocities of the past into a cultural melange striving to eke out an identity of its own… shedding the baggage to shape the future…
Musings on a trip to Mauritius…
