It affirms United Nations, The African union, The International Olympic Committee, The Atlas that I looked at at home and six websites that Isla Mauricio is an African island. That affirms all those sources consulted with precision, With the same precision with which all are wrong. Mauricio is Asia. The places belong to where they have the soul. In Mauricio or eat, It doesn't pray, nor sin as in Africa. In Mauricio I did not find a trace of Africa even if it was forgotten.
It was night when we arrived at the enloquetado and pleasant airport of these islands of the Indian. We were waiting for a sympathetic taxi driver who wasted an optimism, Then we verify that something unfounded, before any of our doubts. “No, here it never rains a long time. Some drops or a quick downpour can fall, But it doesn't rain this season ", We remembered the good of that Hindu some of the days that with our rented car we increased the speed of the windshield wiper to see something.
Things are aligned to a logic and not to the disorder of surviving
The almost an hour of journey to our fabulous hotel showed a disconcerting landscape between darkness. We had not prepared or seen anything about this place. We did not expect anything that wasn't rest and us. And there, as always, It happened that simple things became surprises and from nothing came a place that was conquering us for the lack of expectations. Are all houses of cement and things are aligned to a logic and not to the disorder of surviving?, We asked ourselves already accustomed to the norms of the continental zone from which we come (We lived in Maputo).
First we act as disciplined tourists with pleasure and we stayed two days enjoying the wonderful Le Tousserok Hotel that a friend recommended us. Its beaches were of green flour and salt, They even have their own island, In his sun loungers he sleeps and read. It was a perfection in the suspicious detail and although it is not the type of hotel that we usually frequent, too big and too perfect, It was ideal for the moment and the desire for tranquility.
Mauricio smelled as sugar is down in some areas of the car window
But after two days we refusing with pleasure, our essence came out and on the first day we rented a car. Then that landscape so monotonously beautiful and simple began of extensive sugar reed fields with peeled mountains and folded in the background and dotted with some extravagant Hindu temple with its striking statues and colors. All in a certain calm and some sections of beautiful roads in which the treetops created a green vault on the asphalt with its branches. The world seemed to swing in a calm without fanfare in which even the storms seemed programmed to not disturb excessively. I have written many times, sometimes with some literature, odors from place. There is nothing poetic, Mauricio smelled as sugar is down in some areas of the car window. It was a sweet smell and violent.
We went to the capital, Port Louis. On the way we discover that cultural mixture that the island presumes. They say that each flag color reflects one of its religions. Hindu temples, Catholics, Muslims and Tamiles happen in which they explained that it was a peaceful coexistence. Then, Already in the big city, We immerse ourselves in its great Chinese neighborhood where we ate in one of its humble restaurants, Great canton, food that seemed heated in the same Beijing. Its walls were made of worn paper, dirty, And the cutlery were skinny and folded.
Commerce is always fascinating where there are no prices on labels
We lost ourselves in its big market, A great bazaar of Victorian doors and oriental soul, in which spices and fabrics positions accumulate. Could be in Türkiye, Morocco or India because I had something from all those places. Trade is always fascinating where there are no prices on the labels and there were only voices and hands to give and receive. And then we walked for the Company Gardans, The Waterfront caud and the stores in the center where we enjoy a fun and quiet walk.
The following day we decided to go south, Towards Chamarel cataracts and the Black River Throat National Park. First we stop in the Grand Bassin temple located next to the lagoon of a volcanic crater. There we contemplate a family to make a series of prayers and offerings to sacred waters that the islanders believe that they come directly from the sacred Ganges. Those waters miraculously crossed an ocean to purify a site where the monkeys stole the houses of foreigners rude, where we contemplate dozens of women to wash their souls and where we felt that someone had achieved the impossible to take us far without having to move. There was no doubt, We were in India.
There was no doubt, We were in India
Then, After passing through the Chamarel cataract and the beautiful throat of the Black River, We arrive by chance to a beach that we will not forget, The drearness. It was a public sand beach too white and water too green and blue in which we bathed on a ground coral layer. It was a beautiful place, where we saw groups of local people eat under the coat of the Pinares and where we listen to their prayers of the later. I had neat public bathrooms, Because everything in Mauricio is careful, Even carelessness, And we ate in a beach bar a fish that did not allow us to stop smiling.
Then we lost something with the car and put ourselves along some dirt road that always flowed before a sugar field and the tranquility of a faceless look. It was this mansions zone, I guess from Globo Millionaires, of natural harmony. Nothing is forced in Mauricio, His perfection has some careless.
Nothing is forced in Mauricio, His perfection has some careless
Finally, When almost our trip ended, We went to the north. We visit the famous Catholic Church of Cap Malheureux. Your red roof, Its Nordic style and its proximity to a transparent blue water full of fishing boats have made it an icon of the island. Maybe I would get more up to date with God if the appointments were in this place. Then we ate in Grand Baie, where more hotels are concentrated, restaurants and nightclubs. I thought it was a wonderful horror that is probably the place I would choose if I went back.
That afternoon we returned to the hotel surrounding the island for the north and the east, passing by a coast where there was grass, pines and some banks to sit down to see dawn. We had the feeling listening to that silence, understanding the complexity that there were no edges in its forms, that Mauricio had managed to separate from the world and not be contaminated by him. A lost island, About Madagascar, Where no one arrives, And in which I understood that they care about the complex and critical looks that could suffer from the rest simply because for them there is nothing that is not there. The last night to celebrate it, I took several local rum while listening to the orchestra that acted at the hotel and thought that in order not to expect anything from this island I wished to come back.
