Autumn in Mauritius

September and October aren’t normally the times of year I set off for the Mauritian sunshine but that’s how it happened this year. It was slightly odd digging through my jumpers and winter dresses to find all of my recently packed away summer clothes; coupled with our last-minute booking I had some bizarrely mismatched outfits in Mauritius that I would have never thrown on in London. But then again, it’s holiday: time to live in the moment and just go with it…

This is a slightly random assortment of photos, I’ve already told you why I was there and my thoughts so as you might expect documenting the trip and everything we saw wasn’t really first priority for me this time around. I’ve written a lot about Mauritius before (LINK SPEW), it’s a pretty amazing country with lots of tiny islands to explore and a crazy geographical range; mountains, rainforest, woodland, beach and city. People often describe Mauritius as paradise; I’m completely biased of course but I definitely agree, aside from the natural beauty of the landscape (JUST LOOK AT THE VIEW FROM OUR FLAT IN THE TOP PHOTO) it’s got an endearing charm all it’s own amongst the welcoming people and ramshackle little towns. All in a country smaller than London!

We stayed in a flat near to Port Louis (which I’ve posted about before here), the capital of Mauritius and home to a lot of my family as well as some of the most evocative buildings I think I’ve ever seen. The colourful, slightly dilapidated constructions always stick in my mind when I’m back in the UK. Last time I was in Mauritius James and I stayed in a super-fancy hotel (post here) so it was a totally different experience this time sharing a flat with my Mum and Dad, especially as it’s been about 8 years since I last shared a house with my parents/spent longer than a couple of days with them. Again, it’s holiday, time to just go with it…

Casanova

This beautiful 7 year old white camel named Casanova (he certainly stole my heart) had a pitch at the end of our hotel grounds so we met him on our first day. I assumed the camel was in a dire situation much like British seaside donkeys, and as I’m pretty militant about animal rights I immediately started questioning the camel driver: where did the camel sleep and eat? How old was he? Where was his herd? Camels like to sleep and rest together with their herds, and they also like sleeping in the same place. I wanted to make sure this camel was happy.

The camel driver explained that the whole camel family worked at various hotels up and down the beach and assured me they were all reunited nightly at a central compound (where they were also fed). He could easily have been lying to appease the crazy tourist but it later turned out my hotel room was overlooking the camel compound. The hotel apologised for the less-than-scenic view but I couldn’t have been happier. I got to see for myself that the camel driver was right, there were about 16 happy camels sleeping in circles and eating together.

On our next journey to see Casanova we met his owner and whilst chatting he showed us a pretty amazing photograph; the only photograph he had of his grandparents which showed them alongside about 4 camels; ancestors of Casanova. He explained that the family have owned camels for many years. I was starting to trust these guys and after seeing some sorry-looking camels in the local markets or towns I could see that Casanova was in good health.

The hotel residents are encouraged to bring Casanova fruit and water, give him treats and play with him. We definitely weren’t the only people who took him food on a daily basis; there was one occasion where we turned up and he refused to eat any of our food. The owner explained that a lot of people had already come bearing treats and he was full. I remember thinking for an animal to refuse food and water in the middle of such blazing heat must have meant he was pretty content.
Camels have been domesticated for at least 4,000 years and there are depictions of camels helping humans in ancient cave markings, predating all written accounts. They have been worshipped in poetry and songs by the Arabic people since ancient times and prized as highly-regarded friends. Camels are patient, good-natured and co-operative which means they are better suited to working with humans unlike (for example) horses, who have to be frightened into doing things, or monkeys, who are taught via starvation. Camels often show affection to humans they like and respect; there are reports of camels protecting and helping their Bedouin owners in desert sandstorms (dogs, elephants and occasionally dolphins are the only other animals who actively look after humans). 

The camel driver showed us what to look for in a happy and healthy camel, such as the skin on his eyelids and thick the fur is round his ears. All this considered I felt a lot happier about the situation. Last year on holiday I spoke about my distress at donkeys and camels being used as a tourist attraction (aside: I need some new shorts…), but having studied camels a bit more and seen this particular camel, his living situation and just generally learning more about these animals, I decided he had a happy life and it would be ok to go for the camel ride. 

Casanova started running as soon as I was on him; apparently this was partly because I’m small and he was seeing how fast he could go with me on him, and partly his way of playing with me (he’d got to know me quite well after 5 days of treats and attention). We ended up going quite far out into the sea where Casanova ignored his owners calls and we waded around for a good ten minutes. It made me think of when boys give you piggybacks and the first thing they do is try and run around and pretend to drop you (boys will be boys, regardless of species…).

Aged 5 I fell asleep on a very long camel trek in Kenya and it actually felt very reassuring to be on a camel again, the familiar rhythm of the camels legs is one of my oldest memories. Every once in a while you meet somebody on holiday who changes your opinion on things and makes you reconsider things. Crazy as it sounds I guess in my case, that somebody was a camel…

Sharm El Sheikh

I watched Dirty Dancing a couple weeks back followed by a documentary on Butlins (seriously) and I was thinking how that kind of all-inclusive, family fun, summer camp, resort-based holiday of the sixties doesn’t really exist anymore. At least not outside of kids summer camps. You know; days filled with bizarre activities, sloping off to illicitly hang out with the hotel staff, being cut off from the world back home and entering a “resort bubble” with an unfamiliar cast of people you don’t know very well. The kind of vacation which is more about being in a vacation mind-set with a load of other vacationers, rather than being in a vacation destination with a load of strangers, or alone.

It was about halfway through my time in Sharm I realised I was on that exact resort-based holiday. We were lucky enough to be staying in a really swanky hotel. Given the situation in Egypt we were advised not to travel into Cairo or Luxor and just stay in the hotel and although we were definitely in a gorgeous part of the world the holiday ended up being more about the resort and the people than about the country. With barely any internet access we found other ways to kill the long balmy hours. I went with my family and our close friends. All of us mixed race kids look vaguely related (and in my case Egyptian apparently) and two of us spent the week fending off marriage proposals and being told we looked like twins. The whole huge group of us bundled in for extended meals and lounging by the pool, arguing over seating and who was accompanying who to get a second dessert, who gets to hold the pen in the pub quiz, whose turn it is to fetch crisps from the bar. It was an experience of family I’ve never had before; family as tribe.

We tried archery, snorkelling, water polo and aqua zumba (apparently a thing). We spent two hours getting ready to go for dinner, watch the evening entertainment show (including two disappointing England games) and sip endless cocktails on the balcony. 3 of us kids formed a splinter group and spent hours chatting to a local shop worker and some of the hotel staff who were our age, learning hieroglyphics, names of Egyptian gods, arabic swearwords, what it is about my facial features that makes me look Egyptian (wide-set eyes/eyebrows and straight nose, “like African crossed with Indian. Egyptian. Like Nefertiti”). We heard what life is like in Egypt for our peers and told them about our lives in turn. We sat around drinking tea, all of us with smart phones and sharing photos of our friends and homes; videos of nights out and drunken dancing; hours passing quickly.

We’re lucky; we can pretty much study what we want, wear what we want and get with who we want regardless of age, gender or marital status. It was telling how the native workers fared compared to the UK employees at the same hotel. One of the Egyptian workers told me how much he hated work (long hours, minimal pay) and how long he’d been waiting to get a Visa to come to the UK. I asked him what he would do in a dream world where money, Visas and location were no obstacle? If he could choose any life at all for himself? He replied that he’d be doing the exact same hotel job except here, in the UK. We live our lives bigger and maybe as a consequence we dream bigger.

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P.S. Thank you those who contacted me after my last post, I was very touched.

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