reminded why I came

In vain I seek in the landscape some confirmation that I have come to the right place, something that will resonate with my soul.

The first Mauritians I meet are an elderly couple in Istanbul Airport the following night. They tell me I’ll find a girl at a night club or the beach, laughing with vicarious pleasure. It is as if I am a teenager. I suppose age is ever relative. I am 57 and have never been married. Well, Abraham and Sarah were as old as these two when they had their first son, so the Scriptures say. Perhaps there is hope for me.

After a day in Istanbul, more desperate catching an hour or two of winks over the course of an 8-hour night flight. I should be excited when the plan lands. Instead I feel bewildered.

---

I don’t know what the custom is here regarding riding taxis: in the back, American style, or beside the driver as in Egypt, the last country I lived in as an immigrant. I suspect they defer to the desires of newcomers, and I’m determined to do nothing the American way if I have the chance. I go straight to the front right-hand door and open it to see the steering wheel.

“Are you driving?” laughs the cabbie. “Welcome to Mauritius. Everything here is different.” Everything, eh? Indeed, Istanbul is burnt into my retinas and the contrast with what is before me is total. In vain I seek in the landscape some confirmation that I have come to the right place, something that will resonate with my soul.

The driver tells me that locals do not rent, that rentals are just for foreigners. Marry a Mauritian, he advises; not only will I get citizenship but I will be able to live rent-free at my wife’s home.

---

I have secured lodging for the next two weeks at the cheapest place on the coast that I could find online, but I know almost nothing about the environs. My hostess Anoushka lives on the premises, a large house split into multiple apartments she rents out to visitors. She is quietly cordial and gives me a quick introduction to the place and points the way to the nearest shops. The kitchen has everything I need to cook my own meals, but I soon discover that apart from a bottle of water and a bottle of soybean oil I will have to buy absolutely everything I need, down to salt and food containers.

On my way out, I meet two of my fellow lodgers: Lovisa, a Swedish woman and Lucien, her Mauritian husband. Like so many of my neighbors in Egypt, they spend half their time here and half in Europe. But now, says Lovisa, she is doubting whether they will return here again; she would rather stay in Sweden for how this country has changed for the worse. She gives me a long warning talk. Lucien is mostly silent but nods in agreement with everything she says.

The main issue is the cost of living: both food and housing. Rents are high and the commercial market generally demands 3 months’ deposit. She advises me to stay away from any advertised rentals and to seek out a home by word of mouth. Forget about this area; it is all touristy and expensive, and so is pretty much everywhere around the coast.

Go to Goodlands, she says, an Indian village inland. Get local, immerse myself in the local population and I’ll squeeze by. Otherwise, this place will suck my money up. She scoffs at the beach I glimpsed: “It’s a public beach” and directs me to an alley up the street where I can access the ocean and avoid the crowds. Yes, the supermarket is reasonable by Mauritian standards, but be prepared for food being a major expense moving forward.

At this point I am famished as well as exhausted, and move on the supermarket. Shopping is depressing and stressful. What a pain it is to make a temporary home, feeling that eating out is beyond my budget and knowing that in two weeks I will have to shlep out whatever is leftover of what I buy. I shop minimally and go for the cheapest of everything. All the budgeting taxes my brain to the limit.

But when I leave the market, I see the ruddying light, smell the sea air, I am reminded of why I came. I have a quick, small meal and follow Lovisa’s directions to the beach. It is indeed nearly empty of people and the water is like a mirror to the setting sun. I don’t have the energy for a serious swim but have a brief baptism.

Ah, the taste of salt! The feeling of the sea gently holding my body aloft. I have returned to my element.

That night I sleep soundly and without interruption for the first time in longer than I can remember.

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