“You come to Mauritius in perfect time, Madam,” my driver beamed
at me as we headed up the motorway from the airport towards the capital Port
Louis. It was just before six o’clock on a Saturday morning. I am not
at my best after an overnight flight and all I wanted was to reach my luxury
hotel, collapse on the white sandy beach, sip a pina collada and maybe take
a pedalo out on the turquoise ocean. The friendly Mr Ramsurrun had other ideas.
“You have short rest. Then you go to the races.”
An hour later, as we circuited Port Louis, Mr Ramsurrun was still talking about
the gee-gees. I could not go wrong with Dandy Rouge, and must watch out for
Lad of Leinster. “Of course it was the British who built the race course,”
he said, insisting on a detour to the old fort that overlooks the city so I
could survey my compatriots’ handiwork. Laid out by the British at the
beginning of the 19th Century when they took over the island from the French,
it stands, appropriately, within a spectacular horseshoe of black volcanic mountains,
walking distance from the centre of Port Louis. I agreed that the setting was
very beautiful. Mr Ramsurrun shook his head sadly. “I am working this
afternoon, Madam, but you will be able to go.” I felt churlish. My head
ached and it was hard to be grateful for all the hot tips, or the vivid account
of Frankie Dettori’s visit the previous autumn.
When I came to, however, after a few hours of reviving deep sleep, I had probably
been dreaming about Dandy Rouge and Lad of Leinster. Or perhaps Mr Ramsurrun’s
enthusiasm had infected me because as I was finishing a leisurely light lunch
by the pool, I saw a party setting out from the hotel for the races and immediately
hitched a lift. I soon discovered that my driver was far from unique in his
obsession. Racing is a main topic of conversation in Mauritius and even if you
are not the slightest bit interested in horses, it is one of the best ways to
see the islanders en masse and get a sense of Mauritius’s rich and varied
culture. An astonishing fifth of the entire population congregate at the Champ
de Mars race course every Saturday afternoon throughout the season (which runs
from May to December, when it becomes too hot for the horses to race), and a
considerably higher proportion regularly watch on tv but attend whenever there
is a “classic” or big cup. Betting is a way of life and for many
poorly paid workers, a win is the only hope they have of affording life’s
luxuries. There are three separate racing magazines with huge circulations so
that by the time the horses are paraded round the paddock under an ancient overhanging
banyan tree before each race, their form has been excitedly debated. I spent
a thrilling afternoon in a private box recently been set up for visitors by
Jacques Ritter, one of the legends in Mauritius racing (jritter@intnet.mu) and
even managed not to lose all my holiday money.
The middle of the race course becomes a lively fun-fair while the races are
on, with colourful stalls and snack bars presided over calmly by a statue of
that veritable race-goer, Edward VII. It was erected “by a grateful Mauritius”
in 1902, presumably in gratitude for the race course. Another colonial monument
closeby is a stone obelisk commemorating Lady Gomm, the Governor’s wife,
who in 1847 sent out invitations to a ball using the island’s first postage
stamps. She rather naughtily posted them the day before they were due to be
issued so that the few she licked personally are much prized by philatelists.
The last one to be sold cost just under a million pounds. These “blue
penny” stamps are celebrated in a superb new museum on the Caudan Waterfront
in Port Louis. The Blue Penny Museum manages to make the history of the island’s
postal service fascinating and also houses a small art gallery featuring past
and contemporary Mauritian artists, a room devoted to Paul and Virginie, Mauritius’s
only literary classic, and an attractive museum shop selling historical postcards,
notebooks and some of the most tasteful souvenirs on the island. I bought a
lovely handwoven cushion based on the Mauritian Picasso, Malcolm de Chazal’s
unique colour scheme. The Caudan Waterfront is worth a visit in its own right.
Its trendy shops and eateries reminded me of the restored South Street Seaport
in Manhattan and the Albert Dock in Liverpool closer to home. For centuries
ships plied the oceans between these ports so it is rather touching that all
three now enjoy a similar new lease of life.
Ten years after those first blue penny stamps were issued, the plates on which
they were printed became so worn, a local engraver was employed to re-draw them.
His hideous caricature of Queen Victoria, known as the “monkey head stamp”,
caused a scandal. The engraver had a day job as “the 2nd or 3rd Comic”
at the municipal theatre and if his acting was as hilarious as his engraving
he was surely worth seeing. Sadly that is impossible but the theatre still stands
today amid the frenetic traffic in the city centre. Built in 1822, it has been
exquisitely restored; the great painted dome, chandelier, gilding and red velvet
seats would be at home in Regency London. It has an active programme of events
and although I was sorry to miss a production of Shakespeare’s Macbeth
in Creole, no one minded my wandering round backstage while the actors were
rehearsing.
Sadly the curators at the old Naval Museum at Mahebourg were not so hospitable.
I arrived just as they were putting up the shutters half an hour before closing
time and found I had to walk round peering at exhibits in the dark. This was
a shame as this gracious French mansion dating back to the late 18th century,
with enormous wonky staircase and creaking wooden floors has the feel of an
old wooden ship and houses fascinating treasures salvaged from shipwrecks, paintings,
astrolabes, and gives a real sense of the strategic importance of this tiny
island, scarcely bigger than the Isle of Wight. It was said whoever controlled
Mauritius had charge of India and it was after the decisive Battle of Grand
Port in 1810 which brought Mauritius under English rule, that the two enemy
admirals, Sir Nesbit Josiah Willoughby and Capitaine Guy Duperre were both wounded
and carried here to receive medical treatment in adjacent beds.
When I discovered that there were giant tortoises at the Royal Botanic - now
the Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam - Garden at Pamplemousses in the North of the
island, I went to visit them. The older among these astonishingly predate the
solid Victorian cast iron gates at the entrance bought from the International
Exhibition at the Crystal Palace in 1862. The guided tour and well worth hanging
about at the entrance while the guide amassed a party. With waterlilies the
size of boats and weird and wonderful trees that bleed or produce ink, he had
a story to tell about every specimen and was so proprietorial about the plants
that he kept pausing in his narration to chase after an urchin who had picked
an orchid or shake his fist at another clambering up a rare palm.
The botanic gardens are the perfect place for a picnic but – for all the
fabulous restaurants in this fabled hotspot of luxury hotels - the most romantic
place to dine in Mauritius is undoubtedly “Eureka”, a magnificently
preserved 19th century colonial family home at Moka in the mountains in the
centre of the island. With 109 doors and no corridors, the house is full of
carved wooden furniture brought by the East India Company from all over the
world. As I relaxed in a basketwork chair sipping vanilla tea on the verandah,
with the owner’s dog at my feet, a chef walked past carrying two enormous
banana leaves which are used as platters for serving food. Authentic Creole
cuisine is a specialty here, with cookery demonstrations available in the old
kitchens before you eat. Meals are served on the verandah or down in the deep
wooded ravine by a waterfall. Independent travellers can stay in one of the
three wooden guest houses in the gardens. (http//www.maisoneureka.com)
By now Mauritian cuisine was taking its toll on my waistline so I was grateful
to discover where locals go to jog. I drove to the top of the Trou aux Cerfs
crater at Curepipe and joined them in a complete circuit round the rim of an
extinct volcano, enjoying dramatic views in every direction across the island.
Waiting at the airport to board my return flight, I met some neighbours from
home who rather grumpily told me that they had enjoyed Mauritius but would not
return. It was too far to come to simply sit by the sea. I admitted that I had
not found time for sunbathing. It was only as I enthused about the island, and
my newfound interest in philately, botany and horseracing that I realized I
never got my ride on a pedalo. And I haven’t even mentioned the dodo.
I shall have to go back.
Fact file
Charlotte Cory was a guest of Mauritius Holidays (tel: 0207-501 0808)