Getting Started...

Action Stations

The following morning as I wake up in one of the boss’s five spare bedrooms, the one with a stunning view over the bay, the rest of the crew, barring the Irish One, are straight in to action on the house hunting front. Irish, like me, didn’t finish partying last night till four and so stayed the night. I was well chuffed to get her into bed on day one. It was a struggle, but in the end she relented, though sadly in another room to me. It was one of those situations when you gently tap, then shake, shake harder and then wonder if a swift sharp slap across the cheek will get her on her feet to make the move from armchair to bed. In the end we got there though. 

The others are not hanging around and the Dragon views her flat that she’d already decided on from pictures while still in Dubai and commits. It’s apparently great though. Within moments Madame, Karen and Cesar have found a four bedroom house together, so leaving just Irish and me still hung over and not yet settled in to our apartments, let alone thinking about future homes. What I do do though, later on, is get the 125 Scooter. Very wobbly to begin with as I’m used to motor bikes with legs either side not perched up in front of me, but practice, practice. Otherwise my Saturday is taken up watching golf as this is of course Ryder Cup weekend, Europe versus them over there.

The Dodo Legacy 

After years of sand it's all lush, lush.

Home hunting will come but, shit, we’ve got these rooms for a month and for a couple of days I need to adventure, so, not that golfing is exactly adventuring, the following day I head off with the Boss, Pancho Villas the golfing Bandit otherwise known as Marguerita, his delightful Mexican wife, to one of the island’s best courses, the Belle Mare Plage Links course, where I perform in my usual haphazard, fairly appalling, way. Pancho is at that stage where she is a thirty six handicap, having just started playing, going on twenty six or less and so consequently thrashed us two even if we added our scores together. Great strike and is a sporty type, but only just started playing. We need to get her an official handicap and then she’ll be down in the teens in a year. But what a nice change playing a course with indigenous greenery and not just f’ing sand as a hazard. Fairways were nicely wide as well, so accommodating to my slice.

On the boat over to Le Touesserok

with waves breaking over the reef in the distance

After our game we head further down the East Coast to take a boat over to Le Touesserok, an island golf resort, for lunch. Thai prawn and squid salad later and we’re off home, but this time we take the scenic route with the Boss who doesn’t drive, having been brought up on an island half a mile long, with no cars, map reading a very poor map and the wifey driving. It was nearly perfect with just minor hiccups like ‘turn right’ translating into Spanish as ‘left’ and ‘Oh, we were supposed to be going away from those mountains not around the other side of them’. Anyway I was able to see a fair bit of the island so grand.

Back to the Ryder Cup and then a hastily arranged meal for the troops at the legendary ‘best nosebag on the island’ venue, and it was delicious and a spot on setting, though dare I say it, extremely pricey. Again I seemed to overstay and found myself walking home at two in the morning having sensibly left the Harley in the car park. Naturally, as in any major production, the obligatory three dogs who just have to come out to accost the unwary stranger weaving down a deserted, dimly lit, street arrived on cue. Do I scream for help and wake up the neighborhood or just run for my life on my ‘you’re running days are over’ hips? Neither of course as I can immediately sense that these boys are far more frightened of me than vice versa. I guess it’s the Dodo legacy!

Move over Bellamy, Davey Jones will be adding this caption

Four hundred years ago this island was uninhabited and had no predators. In fact the ‘King’ was El Dodo, a flightless, really stupid looking bird. So consequently when the first humans arrived who sadly happened to be the Dutch the Dodo waddled up to them saying ‘Helloooo, will you be my friend?’ But we all know the Nedderlanders who are a rather calculated bunch. So despite not talking Dodo they still took it upon themselves in their drunken rage to say ‘No’ and obliterate the species irrespective of the fact they didn’t even taste particularly nice. Any that managed to get away were done in by their dogs and the rats that they kindly imported.  

It’s Monday

Quickly recapping and let’s remember we are here relocating the business and so today is the beginning of the working week. Ok, I’m not a full time employee, in fact I'm not exactly an employee at all, more of a small fitting/fixture. But for the rest of them midday is action stations and so, in order to align with Europe their hours are midday till eight in the evening,  they go off for their first day and, of course, there are the inevitable start up hiccups. But shit happens and the phones, internet, scanners etc will iron themselves out over the next few days. Though I do feel tempted to bang some heads and say ‘Come on now we’re in Paradise so mellow out, Rome wasn’t built in a day’. But I’m the insignificant one, wafting in to the office for a few minutes and doing my bit, before returning to the golf, so it’s easy for me to say. Not involved in all that technical stuff I don’t and don’t want to understand. So it’s all panning out to be absolutely bloody brilliant and tomorrow, weather permitting; I’m off on a cruise on the scooter to get some local bearings.  

Scooting in Mauritius

So I got the wee 125 the other day and I believe it’s got to be the future. You stick to the speed limit here; you don’t get ten clicks grace from my brief experience these last few days. Any stretch of straight road and there may well be a couple of coppers hovering in the bushes waiting to pull you over. Today I saw a guy pulled over by three lady plods looking all neat and natty in their nicely pressed uniforms... Still, can think of worse ways to go.

Looking down from the hills

Anyway yesterday was initiating  the house hunting scenario, so I was up at five as it happened and by half six I was off cruising down the coast road to the capitol Port Louis, and then in the other direction up to the point Grand Gaube, half an hour away, just to see the possibilities. What I learnt was that as beautiful as the Grand Gaube might be there is nothing else there, so would be having to come back here for any socializing. Consequently I have to find a home within fifteen minutes of Grand Baie, which has the shops and plenty of entertainment and is where I have to come every day to work as it is. Most expensive area on the island but swings and roundabouts. It is lovely and maybe I can have all my mildly rich, darling friends, come and stay and supplement my ‘retiree’s’ income with a donation into the kitty, as I’m now potentially going to be an official retiree by visa! Bedooing, as actually thought myself such since I was early thirties. But this time it’s official!

So I started at one end of the road and cruising to t’other went in to all the ten or so Immoubiliers/Estate Agents I saw, giving them my criteria – No complex, peace and quiet, indigenous old garden, budget and categorically no Mosque within shouting distance. There were the little operators who will most likely be minimal in response, the uppy over priced ones and three I reckon will work. Still, we’re only talking about a small town, and there are only going to be so many properties to see, and they’ll all be knowing what’s where, when and how. And then of course one just clicks in certain direction and follows down those particular paths… We will see.

Even I can admit a Swissie might be Right

Pin the tail on the Panzer?

So after yesterdays initiating the house hunting I decide I better go and play golf again and see if I can perform a wee bit better than the other day, so off I go with golf bag slung over my shoulder back to the Links course. Exactly an hour later I arrive to be told they’re chocker as the holiday season is now in full swing; and that’s just three days after last time I played when I noted the course had players hacking around but wasn't exactly heaving. Having just worked for a golf course for two years I realize there is a certain mentality that needs to be exuded out to potential punters, which is along the lines of ‘we’re doing brilliantly, oversubscribed with both members and visitors, but ok, we can just squeeze you in with another two ball, but consider yourself lucky and you’ll have to pay full wack for the honour’! In fact I got residence’s rate and ten minutes later was on the first tee aching in my hands from throttling and shoulder from the weight of carrying my bag for the last hour.

 My playing partners were Connie and Doris out from Switzerland, and after introducing ourselves and the girls turning down my suggestion to play strip golf, the opening tee shots showed that Connie, built like a miniature Panzer tank, could hit the ball far further than me, though not necessarily straight, which I can also relate to. At least we have something in common! As the round progresses I learn her pet topic concerns the ground keepers and other locals, conveniently placed beside the course, appropriately where a ball is going to land, nicking them. ‘I voz here five years ago and, ja, the same zing happened zen. I knew ver my ball should be, but nien, it’s gone, and zer is zis man standing in the shade viz ze air of innocence’. Yes, yes Connie, I thought, Swiss paranoia is setting in. But actually through the game there were three occasions that one of our balls disappeared from a seemingly perfectly safe shot and each time there he was standing right on cue… And when you start thinking suspiciously it does take the edge of the enjoyment. Still we will monitor the situation in the future. Naturally when mentioning this to the management it was all ‘oh no, I never, never heard that one before’, which I believe must be a crock of bull.