Ommmmmmm......

The Golden Temple at Amritsar, India

Most people will find a calming atmosphere in a place that has traditional religious or spiritual associations.Some such buildings are spectacular structures, like the Sikhs' Golden Temple in Amritsar, set in a sacred lake and enclosed by a wall all around.

Back in England, I sometimes watch people as they walk into the cathedral in my home town of Lincoln and see them pause and soak in the atmosphere of a near-thousand-year-old building that was, in its time, a technological project as complex and daring as putting a man on the moon in more recent years. 

Some of the standing stones at Carnac

But you don't need a magnificent structure to get that sense of peace and calm, as I discovered many years ago when I took two of my children on holiday to Brittany. 

The standing stones at Carnac number over 3,000 and are between 3,500 and 4,500 years old. They are set out with geometrical precision over an area roughly 100 metres wide and more than a kilometre in length.

Whatever their original purpose may have been, the site retains a powerful atmosphere - not forgetting that both Brittany in France and Cornwall in England emit natural radiation from the granite bedrock well in excess of the levels that have been set as safe and acceptable for human habitations that are close to nuclear power stations. 

So don't be surprised if you tingle a bit after hugging one of the stones.

And what, you may be thinking, has this to do with Mauritius? - that will, to some extent, depend on your degree of scepticism or open-mindedness, because the whole island of Mauritius is identified by some spiritual leaders as having unique properties. In  particular, there are claims made for a woodland glade near the tiny hamlet of Riambel, on the south coast.

The "Spiritual Vortex" at Riambel

Riambel is known in the metaphysical world as the location of one of the world’s 14 energy vortexes. New Age healers claim this particular energy vortex is a “link between our Earthly dimension and the fifteenth dimension, one that exists in the lower levels of our universe.”

They say that energy enters the world in Mauritius and flows through the planet, exiting in an identical vortex on the opposite side. The theory of the vortex is that there is both an “in” and “out” flow, like two identical passages that reinforce but do not inhibit the other. They believe that the vortex on Mauritius is the first to become active, and the exact locations of all 13 others still remain to be identified. 

For more information on the power of the vortex, have a look at James Dyson's vacuum cleaners, but I doubt if you'll be much the wiser about any of the claims made for this calm woodland glade.  

Nonetheless, I found that this location does have a strange atmosphere that is quite enervating. After 20 minutes, I felt quite dizzy and - no - I had not been drinking. 

What I have come to realise over the past few days, is that you can take Mauritius on any level, from hedonistic night-life to spiritual retreat. I have found a special quality that encourages me to slow down, and ask all those New-Agey questions like what have I achieved in my life, and what should I do next?

I think that the fact that Mauritius was uninhabited for thousands of years has given it a special quality that is accessible to anyone who is prepared to open up and feel the difference. 

Just breathing. . .

There is something very powerful about just sitting on the beach, and trying to think of nothing whatsoever. There's nobody pestering you to buy T-shirts or trinkets, and nobody hawking drinks or snacks, either. Hot sun, warm water and nothing to disturb the peace.

Hammocks, and the skilled art of total indolence

We had a hammock in the garden when I was a child. It was a piece of canvas the size of a small single bed, with eyelets at each end and ropes that looped through at each end and were tied to two conveniently-spaced cherry trees in the garden. 

We had a very basic military hammock  like this one

Dad bought it Army surplus in the 50s, when you could get just about anything from military over-stocks, and it provided hours of amusement in summer evenings and school holidays. 

However, it was very rudimentary: it lacked "spreader bars" at the ends with the result that the ropes gathered the ends uncomfortably tight.

As you might remember from comedy scenes in old war films, this kind of hammock presented challenges to the novice. There was a knack to climbing in and getting comfortable without just falling straight out on the other side.

The idyllic concept of the hammock 

Despite all the childhood bruises from trying to master this primitive piece of traditional furniture, I always maintained a tropical dream of a hammock slung between two palm trees, gently swinging in a warm breeze and nothing to disturb my doze apart from the songs from exotic bird-life and the gentle murmur of the sea on the shore. 

Unfortunately, it never seems to work out quite  like that, and the ubiquitous alternative has spread across beaches everywhere, in the form of the sun-bed.

Now, the sun-bed is a great improvement on the basic option of a simple rush mat or beach-towel, spread on a sandy shore, but a sun-bed shares with these the common disadvantage of being rather a long way down.  

The uncompromising combination of bulk and age makes rising from anything low-down increasingly challenging. I find that these days I take two looks at a contemporary couch or settee before sinking into it. Especially if I am about to enjoy a refreshing beer or a stimulating Scotch. I know now that I will, in a while, have to get up again, and that such a manoeuvre will be gravity-challenged, not gravity-assisted. 

Just two inflated cylinders joined with open webbing

And then, I found the answer for my search for ultimate warm-weather relaxation - a "pool-hammock." I had noticed a couple of strange pieces of equipment by the plunge-pool here, but I had no idea what they might be until Angela (who owns the River House,) explained. 

A pool-hammock is a length of plastic webbing with an inflated cylindrical section at each end. 

One "pillow" goes under your neck and the other pillow goes under your knees.

All you have to do is lie there. 

A few hand-paddles to the edge to replenish sun-cream or reach for a drink, and for the rest, it is the epitome of total relaxation.

In a normal hammock, it's your  weight that de-stabilises the thing with every little shift in your position. In a pool-hammock it's your weight that keeps everything in balance so that you can just relax and feel secure.

The down-side to this sybaritic accessory is that it becomes very difficult to engage in even the mildest level of activity. I thought about going down to the beach: I thought about getting another drink, but the pool-hammock is positively narcotic - without any damaging side-effects. 

All you need is enough puff to inflate the two air-chambers and the energy to flop into the pool. 

If I practise it enough, I think I will just about manage to master it.

Short shadows

The hat alone would probably provide
complete shade

It is one of those odd little things that I remember from my first time in the tropics: when the sun is overhead,  your shadow disappears into your feet. 

I was reminded of it today, when I was trying to work out how to position the sun-bed so that I would be at the best angle to catch the sun and - oops! - no shadow. 

With the damage to the ozone layer and the growing threat of skin cancers, some people would find the very idea of stripping to minimal clothing and sun-bathing unthinkable. Like the lady in the photo, (madam - your legs are naked!) they cover up with long sleeves.

I suffer under the delusion that I am slightly more presentable in a darker skin-tone, and last year I bought up IKEA's total clearance stock of high protection factor sun cream at 20 pence per pot, with the declared intention of a personal make-over. It's a variation on spit-roasting. I am very happy to coat, bake, turn and baste carefully at frequent intervals. Especially if the sun-bed is next to the plunge pool.

Yes, - the rain has stopped, the sky has a gentle haze that just takes the edge of the scorching glare, and a gentle breeze makes for a luxuriously comfortable environment. 

Large creatures feel more comfortable semi-submerged

Today I made the effort once again to wander the couple of hundred yards to the beach. I shuffled out of my sandals and stepped into the warm water, staggering to keep my balance in the soft sand and gentle swell as the waves rolled on up. It is surprisingly difficult to retain any decorum on entering and leaving the water, since the sand is so soft that it's a struggle to stay upright when you walk in, and it is almost impossible to stand up when you swim back to the beach later.

In the end, I gave up trying to stand and crawled back through the shallows on all fours after various attempts to find a footing and stand upright had resulted in spectacular crashes and minor tsunamis when my bulk hit the water. 

15 months ago, living in Italy, I had a hip replacement (and there's a blog about that, too.) After hospital I was encouraged to take plenty of exercise, which was impossible in half a metre of snow on the slopes of the Sibillini mountains. When I returned to live in England last year, I never found pavement-pounding very inspiring, and when I was finally referred to a local physiotherapist in Lincolnshire, I was given a very boring series of exercises. 

By January, I was fed-up with my limp and fed-up with trying to get rid of it.

This man had the same idea

A couple of weeks in Mauritius and not only is the limp gone, but I am also in danger of becoming slightly less unfit. It's amazing what a daily dip in the sea does for general mobility and fitness. 

Once you're in the water, there's the buoyancy effect of the sea and any kind of exercise becomes ten times easier. 

I soon recovered all the mobility and flexibility in my hip, and reactivated sleeping muscles that had been severed in the hip-replacement operation. I found that by going out to shoulder depth and then "running on the spot" - a sort of treading water with my toes kicking off from the sand - I could build up my strength in a way that just hadn't been possible on icy Lincoln pavements last month.

Couldn't build up much of a tan in Lincoln, either. . .!

Rather more than scattered showers

On the waterfront at Caudan - morning of February 13th 2013

If you've travelled to New Zealand, you'll understand the weird idea of a micro-climate. It can be raining on just  one side of the road. Well, Mauritius has micro-climates that are just as surprising, as I have seen today.

Here at Tamarin Bay there was a light drizzle when I woke up this morning, and there were one or two heavy bursts or rain, but nothing very significant and now, by mid-afternoon, it's bright, and the sun is trying to break through here and there. I might go down to the beach later and have a splash in the surf.

Flooding at Brisée-Verdiere

Meanwhile....some parts of the island have been hit with torrential raining and flooding with the result that all educational establishments are now closed for the day, following the announcement by the Minister of Education at 06.15 this morning, based on the recommendation of the Mauritius Meteorological Station. By mid-morning all government departments had followed suit and  closed, and soon all shops and offices had shut their doors and sent their staff home.

In the local shopping centre, I found the main supermarket still open, but almost deserted, and all the independent retailers had shut up shop and gone home.

With mixed expectations for the day's weather and uncertainty over bus services The River House staff were all given lifts home mid-morning and, with the spirit of gentle acceptance that I believe characterises the island, everyone now relaxes, and waits to see what tomorrow brings.

It's tea-time, and there's no rain now. A warm breeze wafts the fragrance of the drenched flowers through the air and the sky has a sunny haze. It's the 12th of the month,and statistically we've had our quota of rain till March. If it's bright tomorrow, I'll probably head down the lane to Tamarin Bay. If it's grey I might head 40km over to the other side of the island and see if they are basking in a different micro-climate. Though, to be honest, it is truly liberating to feel that I don't have to find scorching sunshine, or snap photos of all the sights in the guide-books. In fact, I don't have to do anything.

I can just enjoy soaking up the island atmosphere.

A little light cloud over Tamarin Bay - just enough to soften the sun

First Impressions

Mauritius lies in the Indian Ocean, about 2,400 km off the south-east coast of Africa. It is roughly 65km from North to South and 45km from East to West. 


It's a Goldilocks of a territory - not too big: not too small, but just right. 

It's a volcanic island of lagoons and palm-fringed beaches, with coral reefs surrounding most of the coastline.


Technically, it's "densely populated," but nowhere feels crowded. There are rich and poor, but without the extreme poverty that can be found in parts of India and Africa.

It is best summed up by one of the official websites:

"Mauritius has a reputation for stability and racial harmony among its mixed population. Mauritius is known as a plural society where all the ethnic groups present: Hindus, Muslims, Creoles, Chinese and Europeans live in peace and where all the ancestral cultures have been preserved. These features make the island a unique place in the world, and the Mauritians known for their tolerance and kindness towards all people."

Charles Darwin

One can be forgiven for thinking all this is too good to be true... but both Charles Darwin and Mark Twain described the island as a paradise, and it is soon easy to concur. If I search for the reasons that make this place so welcoming, I think the answer lies in the fact that Mauritius was uninhabited until the middle of the 17th century so that the many ethnic groups who have subsequently arrived here can all define themselves as Mauritian. 

Today, Mauritius has a Westminster-style democracy with one smart refinement. While 60 of the 70 seats are apportioned according to the results of elections, there are eight "best-loser" seats in the assembly that are reserved for  the "best losers" among the nonelected candidates, according to their ethno/religious affiliation--two each for Hindus, Muslims, Chinese, and two for the general population. The other two seats are reserved for representatives of the island of Rodrigues. Yes, as if being a Paradise were not enough, Mauritius even has its own island paradise, Rodrigues, 650km to the east.

A wonderful mix of cultures with a common culture of  gentleness

The constitution seems to work well, and the island has a good feeling about it. It is difficult to explain, and I have been trying to find words to describe the mood of the place, and don't find it easy. Islands in the Caribbean are described as  "relaxed" and "laid-back" and both of these could be applied to Mauritius, but there is another aspect here, and the only word that comes anywhere near is "gentle." 

Since the dodo was the only creature to lose out in the scramble to populate the island, there is no racial group that feels dispossessed. Hence the people don't behave as if they always had to prove something, or as if they always expected to be (to use an awful word) disrespected. Yes, there are rivalries and disputes that have flared up over the years and have inevitably become polarised along ethno/religious lines, but that could equally well happen in UK between neighbouring  housing estates or two local schools. 

Some days it might rain - some days it will rain

The other key word to use in talking or writing about Mauritius would be "acceptance." People don't concern themselves about things over things they cannot influence: they just accept. They don't worry over the weather, because they know they have calm days, they have hot days, wet days and typhoons. 

... but when the rain moves on, the sun comes out.

If you come to Mauritius, or indeed most anywhere in the tropics, you need to remember that rain brings green foliage, and that rain will stop - maybe soon, maybe later, and will be followed by sunshine.

Hibiscus

Today's weather has been varied. 
One moment, grey skies and a light shower, then blue skies break through the cloud and the sun dries the damp earth.

I can hear the surf on the beach, a couple of hundred metres down the lane, and the birds are chirping and trilling in all the trees.

Without the rain, we wouldn't have the wonderful flowers, and the grass would be a dusty brown.

I'm not complaining... like I said, Mauritius is all about acceptance: gentle acceptance.

Up, up and away. . . !

"To fly: to serve" is the new strap-line for British Airways. 

I think it's clever, and a smart way to identify the two areas of core expertise of a passenger airline - planes and people. However, what's missing with modern air travel is any sense of occasion, so that the excitement of being truly pampered now exists only for Upper Class, Club Class, Business Class, Royal Silk or whatever fanciful branding the airline chooses, like Alitalia's modestly named "Classe Magnifica." 

For us World Travellers it's all about squeezing into our allocated stall and hoping our compression stockings will prevent Deep Vein Thrombosis.
Bless 'em, the cabin crew do try and make it a pleasant and comfortable experience, but they know that travelling back in World Traveller is to be endured, rather than enjoyed.

40 rows: 9 wide in World Traveller - 4 wide in First

My first flight in this direction was London - Nairobi in 1962, flying out as a VSO volunteer to work on youth projects in the Nairobi townships. The plane was a BOAC Bristol Britannia, with a capacity of 139 passengers (just one class - in narrow seats and just 4 across.) It was a turbo-prop plane (4 propellers) and flew at a maximum cruising  altitude of 24,000ft, rather than a jetliner's 55,000ft. This meant that as the plane traversed Uganda and Kenya, the passengers had a clear view of herds of wildebeest, impala and zebra, in addition to the occasional giraffe.
My flight to Mauritius also had excellent views of the East African game parks, with commentary from David Attenborough, on the TV channel of the in-flight entertainment system.
So much has changed for the better in global travel, but much is always lost in the relentless drive of progress all over the world. I love old airports, where passengers walked out across the tarmac to the terminal. It's best summed up by my trip to Kenya after university, to take up my first job. 

Entebbe Airport in the late 60s

The East African Airways Comet touched down in Entebbe, the main airport of Uganda, near the shores of Lake Victoria, and all the passengers trooped across to the restaurant terrace at the side of the apron. A swarm of waiters produced a freshly cooked English breakfast, silver served with professional deference, (another rasher of bacon, Bwana?)
When we had all had top-ups of the excellent Kenya coffee, and more hot toast and marmalade, we returned to the plane and arrived in Nairobi in time for lunch.




Earlier this week, I landed in Mauritius in late afternoon, to be met by my host and be chauffered from the airport on the East coast to Tamarin on the West coast, where The Riverhouse nestles on the bank of the river, just a couple of hundred yards along a sandy lane from the beach.

Evening view across the river, from the verandah of the Riverhouse

I sat on the verandah, sipping my Scotch on the rocks, as the sun disappeared and the sky darkened.

Yes; I think I could get used to this. 

A gentle journey to departure

Not true for every journey

Monday morning, and the family were on Facebook talking about happiness being a journey and not a destination. It’s a well-worn idea that’s worth remembering, but when we turn the statement back to front, the converse doesn't always hold true: a journey is often an uncomfortable way to reach the destination of happiness.

I write this, having spent the best part of a day schlepping three suitcases in and out of trains. I worked out a way of avoiding stairs and subways, but it was a huge relief, eventually, to exchange my luggage for a boarding pass.

Travelling is made so much easier when there’s no time pressure. The stress and anxiety of wondering if I’ll catch a connection has often been an absolute killer, so these days I take my time, and schedule my travel to get the airport with an hour or two to spare. Today, everything was going fine to start with, but it was too good to last.

Lincoln railway station

An estate car taxi swallowed my suitcases and whisked me to Lincoln railway station in comfortable time to catch the branch line service to Newark. 

At Newark Northgate station I was in the buffet, enjoying a hot bacon roll and a passable (well, almost passable) Espresso, when my phone pinged with  a message. 
It was a text from BA.

The flight would now leave at 11pm instead of 8.30pm..  My plan had been to have a very late, leisurely lunch at Gatwick and relax over a drink or two before boarding. Ah well! “When Man makes plans, God smiles.” I’d have to hang around in the functional splendour of Gatwick departure lounge for an extra couple of hours – but let's get back to describing the next leg of the journey.

The early afternoon train to London is often under-subscribed, so I had taken advantage of a special fare on offer for First Class. Since this meant a complimentary snack and a large Scotch, I not only travelled in comfort but also started in the holiday spirit, with the added surprise of travelling in the company of a fellow member of the Sunday morning congregation at Lincoln Cathedral who, like me, loves church music.

Driver Joe Duddington and fireman Thomas Bray, set the world record
of 126mph  with this Mallard locomotive on July 3, 1938.

 I soon forgot the impending boredom of the delay at Gatwick and spent the rail journey talking about the famous locomotive, the Mallard, and the steam train speed record (set by the Mallard on this line, on the stretch between Grantham and Peterborough,) and discussing pure mathematics, and medieval liturgy.

 Even though BA had tossed a spanner in the timetable with the switch of service, the journey had reverted to happiness and we were soon pulling into Kings Cross. Here I commandeered a luggage trolley and marched purposefully across to St Pancras, from where a mercifully empty train trundled down to an off-season, semi-deserted Gatwick.

Looking forward to a better way to spend
 their Winter Fuel Allowance

As the afternoon drifted on into evening, the handful of remaining passengers were visibly all bound for Mauritius – ours was to be the last flight of the day. To put it kindly, the majority were clearly funding their holiday bar bill from their Winter Fuel Allowance: It was, for the main part, an Oldies Special.

There were exceptions, of course. A clutch of keen game fishermen were talking marlin and tuna; an English woman and her Mauritian husband, were clearly taking their very young son to meet his grandparents back on the island, and one or two affluent Yuppies posed with a louche air, clearly anticipating somewhere different after the been-there-done-that monotony of Thailand and the Caribbean. On a more romantic note, a smart young man clutched a suit-carrier as hand baggage, betraying the probability that he was to be Best Man at a friend's wedding on the beach, under the palm trees.

Unlike all hours at Stansted, there were no clusters of  lads sinking lager, or hen parties in outrageous costumes. There were no women with hair extensions, - just one or two with discreet and well-camouflaged hairpieces. For the men, sartorial elegance was a displayed by a polished pate with a few white tufts.
In 2010 I had fallen victim to the volcano ash disruption when Eyjafjallajökull erupted and grounded airlines in Britain. I had then travelled overland back to Italy, rapidly adjusting to frequent spells of waiting around at train stations, or staring at dull landscapes flashing past the windows of the railway carriage. It had taught me the valuable skill of total inactivity that now stood me in good stead at Gatwick. I scrounged the bins for newspapers with Sudoku and other time-killers. I lingered over Eggs Benedict and Bloody Mary's in one of the deserted restaurants. I spent my BA refreshments voucher on boxes of chocolates that I squeezed into my hand-baggage. Then, eventually, the display board flashed its final announcement for the day and a couple of hundred passengers raced for the gate - as they always do - in the firm conviction that they might miss the flight or, worse, that someone might seize the one remaining copy of the Daily Mail and then push on and steal the seat they, the mature and sensible travellers, had chosen and reserved.

No baggage

We all have baggage, but it's pointless to rummage continually through it, with regrets.

Life is made up of a series of chapters. I've been back in UK 8 months after my 3 years in Italy, and I've written about the ongoing chapter of my life in Lincoln in my blog, The View from Saint Hugh. I now interrupt that story as I start a new chapter. I'll be back in Lincoln for

Which ones will button-up and look good?

 Easter, but until then, I'll be exploring life on the Indian Ocean island of Mauritius. Hence the idea of luggage and the baggage we carry in our lives.
When we travel, we pack, and when we start a new chapter we similarly choose what we take with us. This means tough decisions between what we take and what we leave behind, whether we're talking literally or metaphorically.
We may need clothes for a different climate, possessions for different activities, guide books and phrase books, as well as the plugs, cables and adaptors that enable us to continue with the things we use back home.  But it's not just about keeping on with the same activities and the same way of life: it's about taking the opportunity to have new experiences.

Glad I found my old face-mask & snorkel

I look forward to a change of language and culture, new friends, and a different way of life. I particularly look forward to swimming again, especially when I read about the tropical fish and the crystal-clear water, and I look forward to the opportunity to take up photography once again - something I sadly neglected in Italy.
And all of this is a metaphor for what's going on for us in our everyday life, ( -but with more leisure and better weather!)

We can't take everything with us.

When we move from one chapter to the next in our lives, we can  never be sure about what the future holds, and never sure what we should carry with us, and what we should leave behind.
You see, for me, going to Mauritius is more than just a holiday visit to a friend, it's an exploration of a new opportunity.
So, to extend the metaphor a little further, it means letting go and diving in.

Over the next six weeks I'll be exploring a part of the world I've never visited. It's a country that was totally uninhabited until the 16th century. It was then visited by the Arabs, the Portuguese and the Dutch, but no humans lived on Mauritius until the middle of the 17th century. For almost a hundred years, the Dutch tried to establish themselves, but their efforts never took off, for a whole variety of reasons. The French were more successful and have left a strong cultural imprint on life in Mauritius. Eventually, the British captured the island from the French in 1810, outlawed the practice of slavery in 1835 and began to entice indentured labour from India and China. The result is a cosmopolitan community which has created a rich blend of cultures and - according to all the guide-books - very little racial tension.

Only one indigenous population suffered. The Dodo was hunted to extinction.

I've paid for a second suitcase in addition to my free allowance and my carry-on case, so all that remains now is to try and stop worrying whether I've packed everything, remember to book a taxi to get me to the station and well - smile, and enjoy this amazing opportunity.