Port Louis! What a place to sail into. It is a very small harbor, but my favorite so far. It resembles mostly a channel, about two kilometers long and 250 meters wide. On our left are all sorts of industrial activities. Cargo ships lined up along the wall. Big pieces of machinery lift all kinds of crates out of the cargo areas, while on the right, we pass four Chinese fishing vessels tied up to each other. Two of them have their anchors out. Before we get to the end of the channel, the industrial area extends much further to the left, sort of a half a football tagged onto a straight passage, while a marina hides behind a wall on our right next to a very statuesque hotel. It turns out it is the main hotel in town. From then on, it is patios, floating patios, and a walk with all sorts of tourist shops.
We motor to the end of the harbor, pass the half-football extension and park the boat against a massive concrete wall on the left-hand side. We literally must climb the wall to get to the customs office, less than thirty meters away. The building, also home to the coastguard, is rather plain and nondescript. The old warehouse next door, a huge building in a bad state of repair, is far from plain and nondescript. I can see the loft apartments being built as we speak, but every person I ask has yet to learn what is going on with the structure. Renovations have started, scaffolding all around, and some offices have taken root on the second floor, accessible from behind the customs building. Climb the stairs, one gets to a cobblestone square with entrances to the offices and, smack in the middle of the court, a truly renovated windmill, a museum by itself. It closes for lunch from twelve to one. I went there once at that time, and it seems to mean that the person goes for lunch and the museum stays open but unattended. Climb on in. The walls are lined with photos of the mill from its working years. It’s a real beauty. All is in perfect working order, some cloth on the wicks, release the brake, and milling she goes. Outside on the little square, a few cannons face the harbor.
Mauritius is one of the three Mascarene Islands, Réunion, Mauritius, and Rodrigues. First discovered by the Moors, then discovered by the Portuguese, I guess the Moors must have forgotten about them, and then in 1598, the Dutch moved in. Or better, they used it as a stopover place for many years to resupply their Dutch east India ships. They named the island Mauritius, after Dutch Royalty, Maurits of the house of Nassau. Colonization started in 1638 and was abandoned in 1710. In that time, the Dutch managed to clear large areas of ebony wood, taking it back to the Netherlands, they killed the Dodo into extinction, the only place it ever existed, and decimated a very large tortoise population. Then came the French.
The French brought many slaves to Mauritius to work the sugar plantations. Sugar cane was introduced under Dutch rule. By the beginning of the 19th century, almost 80 percent of the island’s population of 60,000 were slaves. Then came the Brits.
In late 1810 the British landed in large numbers in the north of the island. The French fought and then capitulated in December of that year. By 1835 slavery had been abolished. The workforce was now comprised of Chinese, Malay, African, Malagasy, and Indian. British rule ended in 1968. Mauritius became a republic in 1992 and is part of the Commonwealth.
After finishing the formalities, we motor over to the marina. With only a few boats in town, a place along the quay is easily secured, and we go to the office to register. We are right beside the hotel and at the start, or rather at the end, of a shopping promenade. This very much has the looks of a Cruise Ships facility. At the time we were there, I only saw one very small cruise ship. I don’t know if they get bigger ones during certain times of the year. There were security guards everywhere, inside and outside the marina and throughout the promenade area. I’d expected the marina to be very expensive, but not so. And excellent facilities, clean with great showers.
Away from the promenade, you know, you go those two blocks tourists are not supposed to go, and you’re back in the maze of busy one-way streets, with big holes in the sidewalks and street vendors hawking their wares. And there it happened. A hole in the wall. A place, like many others, selling samosas. Sheena and I still reminisce about some samosas we had thirty-five years ago in Nairobi, Kenya. Right on Kenyetta Avenue, just past the post office, on the right-hand side, a flight of stairs up to the second-floor cafeteria-style restaurant. And they had the best samosas ever. Every time we were in Nairobi, we’d go there and proclaim these were the best samosas ever. And they were. Thirty-five years and many samosas later, I found their match on a back street in Mauritius. How wonderful is that?
So one day, I stuffed myself with samosas, fried noodles called Mine Frit, and all sorts of dumplings, all delicious until you can’t face fried food anymore, for less than four American dollars. We loaded up with supplies from a Winners supermarket chain, as food prices were very reasonable here.
Of course, there is a flip side to these cheap luxuries. A local lady told me that prices had increased by 30% over the last six months, and the minimum wage is only 10,000 rupees a month, about $250. All these security guards were earning pittance keeping us safe, and the servers at the patio bars probably couldn’t afford to buy any of the drinks they were serving.
The promenade also sports an open-air food court. And what do you know, big screen TVs, and it is World Cup season. Every evening I walked to the food court to watch a match.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see much of Mauritius. I had fully intended to tour the seven-colored sands of Chamarel, sand dunes that are naturally colored in seven different colors: green, purple, red, yellow, burgundy, brown, and pink, the only place in the world where this phenomenon occurs. But we run out of time. We had to do repairs, and we had to get going as quickly as possible on account of the weather. Storm season is approaching, and we’d like to be in Cape town, South Africa before that dawns on us.