Perhaps the difficulty in reflecting on Mauritius (which, for those of you who don't know, is a miniscule island-state off the western coast of Africa that fell under alternating French and British colonial rule, and likewise the names of Maurice and Morris, until 1968) is in the fact that we were only there for three days. It might have also been due to being viewed by many as a resort town, which, in all fairness, it has a tendency towards. Mauritius boasts an 80% Hindu population as well as many Chinese and various African countries, it is incredibly unlike any of those countries in their proper indigenous form. Mauritius is an Island, filled with colorful Islanders. Think Indian Bahamas. With far spicier rum and cheaper wine. Which is meant in the most appreciative way possible, as it gave me unhampered opportunity to break out my French skills with locals on the beach.
One great story of note, actually, was finding a man in his 60s with dreds down to his knees who stared constantly at something just beyond my left elbow and accused me of being part of the System. After assuring him of our loyalty to no such thing, we said our goodbyes and he reassured us that, when this is all over and all is said and done, he would be waiting for us. All of us. On the right.
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