Three Weeks Down

"Your Lane is the Middle Lane"

Whatever weather, the human traffic lights are on duty.

Thursday night, nine thirty, and my cheap local pork cubes, garlic, ginger, chillies, wine vinegar, fresh rosemary and tomatoes, are simmering away behind me. Just got some haricot vert to use up, so'll chuck 'em in in twenty mins or so. Otherwise the last two days have, basically, revolved around waiting on my house. Refused to check in today, as not going to come across as if I'm pleading and panicking; which of course I am! No, I'm a stalwart, but just want names on paper. So instead, today, I decided that I was going to get sorted regarding my tartan 'trouse'. When I was back home in Scotland, in September, my dear mother bought me two yards of Ancient Stewart Hunting Tartan material, for my birthday/Christmas present, at a mere forty eight quid a yard. But it's so beautiful. I find, in more cases than not, the Ancient patterns are much nicer than the modern. Take the Modern Royal Stewart, said, in some circles to have been designed by Queen Victoria, how f'ing dare she, (and even her Hun husband dared to dabble in tartan designs!), it's too garish in my eyes. Even if this last point isn't the literal truth, any British subject is allowed to wear the tartan, by kind permission of Queen Elizabeth?? What right does she have deciding who wears wot, she's not one of us! 

Port Louis, the Waterfront. Plus optional young lovers

Every photo opportunity for Pancho as
 she poses with the hundred and eight year old Marguerita

Anyway I've talked to a couple of  'those in the know' locals about who they might recommend as the appropriate fine tailor to do the job, to no avail. Ok, they're otherwise occupied, so I've decided to go alone, and this morning I scooted in to Port Louis, first checking in on the Suzuki dealership, to reconfirm my interest in their pending delivery, of precisely one, Burgman Scooter; the motor I want to indulge in. While there, Audrey, advised me to go to Rose Hill, a town another twenty minutes away, as that was supposed tailor heaven. But, first, I reckoned I'd go down to the Waterfront Arcade and go and see if there was an appropriate looking Boutique, with some clothe conscious person, who might be able to give a bit more in depth insight into my plight. There was only one boutique that I came across downstairs, Unika, and when I entered four lady members of staff pounced, though were consequently stumped, and bemused, by my inquiry. Meanwhile the gentile, very nicely attired, smartly bearded gentleman, Ahmed, who, of course, turned out to be the owner, was precariously balancing on a chair rearranging the hanging of a tapestry. When all was angled up correctly, he dismounted, the minions edged away and "And how can I help you"... He understood my plight perfectly and said that I must meet his tailor, Aslan, 'a gentleman's tailor'. no less. "Can you come back tomorrow". "No". "Well do you have a car". "No, but I've got a Scooter". "Spare helmet". "Yes". "Well Aslan is only two minutes away" (unspoken was if you drove like a Mauritian). So helmets on, Ahmed's beard tucked in, and we're off. Now I've only done a couple of forays out on the Scooter with a passenger, and I'm fine when I've got a bit of speed up, but when maneuvering through two lanes of traffic, with a mass of other scooters and motor bikes of various sizes, who are pros at this weaving in, out, over and under, business, I'm sort of taking it safe, with, maybe a couple of gentle weaves. Otherwise I wait in lane, as the gap between neighbouring wing mirrors offers very little margin for error. It's not far but the whole time Ahmed is going on "No, no, no, your lane is the middle lane, go down the middle lane", by which he meant the dotted white line dividing the cars, trucks, buses, minibuses et all. I was doing my best, but it wasn't up to Ahmed's standards. I will get better I'm sure, but you have seriously got to be checking both wing mirrors while double checking over both shoulders.
Well we got to Aslans' and his wee shop was a peach. Loads'a stuff he'd made, all looking really well tailored and, icing on the cake was, he understood everything I wanted before I'd fully explained it. So I'm feeling confident me trouse are in good hands and will be back on Saturday morning for my fitting. 


Names on Paper

Here she is again with her sweetheart and Security.
 And it's Security in the forground! 

It's been over a week now since we verbally agreed on the house and four thirty this afternoon is when we're supposed to make this understanding rather more concrete. On my side I need to pay up one month's rent, one month's as a deposit and one month's as the agent's fee. First, though, I need a bank account and I need to get some money in to it. As it was, the Commercial Bank of Mauritius minion had come to the office on Wednesday to collect all the necessities needed to process our accounts, and said all should be ready the next day, or at the latest today. Checking in with the office and no one seems unduly bothered about what the status is, so I head on down to the bank to see if I can find out who our visitor of two days ago had been, and to find out where we stood. Ramana was away for his lunch and his partner in crime said the account should be open by Tuesday! Well, I reckoned we could do better than this and it just needed a wee bit of stirring, so I got Rams number, and on arriving home, called him to be told that the others' account's had been set up, but not mine. Though he did promise to deal with it within the hour. This hour turned in to a second, and then after this had ticked by I had to leave to go and sign the deal. As it was, as I passed by the office, he actually rang me, and so I was able to instigate a last minute transfer, via Brenda's computer terminal. So far so good, except I wouldn't actually receive the money till Monday, at the earliest. On to the Agent's, and all went very smoothly. Jean, the landlord, seemed an honest enough guy and was quite open about the fact that he'd like to sell the property if possible, but that it'd so far been on the market for a year and a half, without any nibbles. One or two, very minor points were ironed out, and names on paper... I now have a fantastic home for, at least, the next nine months; after six months either party can give three months written notice. Abracadabra or even Whoopiee!


On the Buses  

Ahmed, Aslan & the trouse

Saturday and I'm off to play golf with Jess and Pancho at the Anahita club, which is supposed to be rather lovely, but first it's off to the 'fitting' with Ahmed and Aslan. Speeding through the Saturday morning traffic, (touch wood, I'm getting quite good at this, at least going solo) I arrive at the Waterfront nicely on cue. The girls, now knowing by business is with the gentlemen, don't pounce, and within two minutes we realise this isn't a fitting at all, but the final product completed. The trouse are the most comfortable I've ever worn, due to both tailor and material, the design matches perfectly down both legs and I'm delighted. I feel a photo coming on, and so with the manageress failing miserably, Ahmed sacks her, and hands the duty over to the youngest girl, who'se obviously far more in touch with the technologies of the modern day. After the first few, rejected, attempts, I'm trying to loosen Aslan up, as he's acting a little nervously in front of the camera. 'Yes, yes, you must loosen up now Aslan', says Ahmed, who positions himself in exactly the same manner, with exactly the same expression, for every snap that's taken.  

Please note the inverted destination top right - home!

Specialized product sales at the Saturday Market.
Two fishing rods on the left and plastic bags on the right 

The golf was great fun, the course is stunningly beautiful and enjoyable to play and the hour and a half drive around the bottom of the island showed a completely different landscape; to be explored in greater detail soon. But as we finished at dusk I left Scooter there with the intentions of picking him up again the next day. And so I decided that the hours journey down to the South East should involve my introduction to the Mauritian bus service as, so far, my only contact with the buses has been avoiding 'fly on the windscreen' scenarios, with me taking the role of fly. At nine thirty I'm down at a bus stop on the Coast Road, central Grand Baie, thanks to Irish, who detoured out of her way to work and dropped me off. The first bus arrived and I put my situation to the conductor, asking which bus, and in which, direction I should be going. Hop aboard, he indicated, and I was off. And just to verify that fate works in mysterious ways I noted that the buses destination was St Antoine, my posh address, on the outskirts of Goodlands. So when the wind is blowing excessively, or the rain is lashing down in true tropical style, I can always voyage back to Grand Baie by bus. Thirty minutes, rather than Scooter's fifteen, but dry. Half an hour later and it was all change at Goodlands, and again the first bus that came along was the right one and this time we took a rather scenic, wending route, to cover the, normally twenty minutes journey, in an hour and a bit. Still, I'm learning backroads here. Again, at Flacq, it's time to change and the bus driver points out which bus, out of the masses at the main terminal, I should go for. Forty five minutes later, I'm woken from my snooze, aand off on a twenty minute walk down the drive and in to the Anahita. After a swift demi I mount up on  Scoots and wend my way back up the coast, finding a nice place to stay next weekend, as we're playing a two day competition down here at the Anahita and La Touessrok courses, satisfying my hunger with a two quid Biryani and visiting the Hindu Temple, whose name escapes me, along the way. Job done