Then Came The Rain

7

It seems the decision to stay indoors was agreed upon by many, but for very different reasons. We chose to stay in and recover from a day of extreme heat, nature rewarded us with a cyclone. Precautions are necessary, and in a place where the wellbeing of so many depends on the actions of a few it is better to play it safe.

 

According to the gradings, the cyclone was still 24hours away, but it was time to batten down the hatches. The beach and swimming pool were closed, all equipment and games stowed away. We could still walk on the beach, but it had narrowed to the width of a sidewalk and the wind was thoroughly unpleasant. We did however discover the joys of swimming in a deserted swimming pool before sunrise.

 

The list of activities disappeared and was replaced by a timetable for bingo and mini table tennis, which would be played on the dancefloor in the bar. Mealtimes continued as usual, bar service took a bit longer as the crowds gathered under the roof, out of the rain.

 

By morning the cyclone was 12 hours away, the sea was a disturbing shade of grey and brown, but the water in the swimming pool was warm. The missing pool loungers would have been conspicuous in their absence had we been anyone else. But they weren’t. Floating should be an Olympic sport. I am sure there would be a medal in it for me. If not for grace at least for enthusiasm.

 

Soon word reached us that our beach walks were strictly prohibited, which was just as well, the beach at low tide was no longer visible.  Buses stopped running, taxis disappeared, trains remained stationary, all the shops on the island remained closed and children got to stay home from school.

 

We were relegated to our rooms to pass the time watching Tom Cruise movies dubbed into French, and national geographic episodes with the original English still audible over the new French soundtrack.

 

8

Palm trees whipped back and forth, coconuts fell, and tropical vegetation shredded. We chose to use the corridor to the dining hall and bar, lest the gorgeous pathway through the gardens be our end.

 

The temperature plummeted to 27 degrees Celsius and stayed there.

 

9

By now the updates were sounding quite dire and the airport had been closed for more than a day.

 

Then it seemed that the cyclone had bigger fish to fry and skirted past the northern end of the island sometime during the night, heading for Reunion and Madagascar, repeatedly whipping us with its tail as it went.

 

10

 

I escaped bad television for a while and went for a walk in the opposite direction to that of our previous excursion.

 

It is known that this is an island of rather religious people, and even though I had noticed them before, I did not really pay attention. The shore is dotted with poles holding shrines above the tide. Each pole has a glass fronted box, and in each box is a representation of a deity, whether it be Hindu, or Tamil, or even Catholic, each box is sealed and serves as a religious artifact for the community.

 

A walk in the neighbourhood and I realise that these shrines are not only for the seaside community, there are an abundance of shrines in the front yards of some houses and at one space it appears that a small church has been built. A statue of Mary and a box like those at sea, filled with Catholic artifacts face two rows of narrow stone pews. Silently waiting for mass to begin on this grey morning.

 

I don’t know if I am using the word ‘shrine’ correctly, but what I see matches what I have always imagined a shrine to be.

 

I make my way to the beach, and I am immediately struck by what looks like the remnants of a large, messy picnic. Closer inspection reveals no foodstuffs, no packaging. Rather there are strips of red fabric strewn about, a little walk onto the rocks reveals strings of beads and more than just a few clay lamps. None broken, just empty of their oil, flame and the prayer they were left here with.

 

 

It feels as if I am intruding, but I don’t know on what. As I turn to leave, I sea what appears to be a model of a pillar, the kind one would expect to see on a Greek temple. I stare as it lays in its rock pool, small blue fish darting around. I am so confused. A few steps on, and Buddha catches my eye. Resting below the water, his back against the rock, the sun trying gallantly to shine on his face, and interestingly, as I put my camera back in my pocket, I spot two snails making their way towards his head.

 

11

It is on my way back to the resort that I notice a retirement village with a gate that leads onto the beach. My mind begins to click.

 

 

12

 

Dinner tonight is a theme night; and it is Chinese.

 

13

 

We steal another swim in the morning and after breakfast we decide to take a taxi into the nearby town. It is a popular tourist hub, although there are few people about. So much of the vegetation has been wrecked. This would have been the closest point to the cyclone, and it shows.

 

We aren’t here to shop, so were wander around for a bit. Once again there are dogs everywhere. The veranda of a closed-up shop has provided shelter for about 20 dogs. All asleep, unperturbed, and most importantly, undisturbed.

 

It must be mango season, or very close to it. The roads are littered with branches and piles of mangoes, dislodged way too early. We go back to our resort unaware of the vibrancy we have been denied.

 

14

 

One last walk into the suburb to look at the houses and the allotments and for the first time to feel slightly wary of the dogs which run away from us only to appear from behind looking more inquisitive than is comfortable.

 

The shop is open again and we load up on keepsakes and head to reception for the umpteenth Covid test.

 

We leave for home at 5 tomorrow morning.

It Started With a Break

1

 

Two tots of rum, a dash of lemon and a sprinkle of cola. My drink was ready, but I was not. My first day on the island lead me away from my usual fare of coffee and red wine. It led me from a fried breakfast to lukewarm fruit and the smell of sunblock.
It was a day that had arrived after waiting for nearly two whole years for the collective fear we felt and the confusing regulations to subside into something resembling a heightened awareness. For the fear of an unknown killer to shrink to the annoyance of a cloth covered face and a different kind of not being able to breathe freely. Two years until we were allowed out of our own environment into another.

 

Saxophone renditions of modern pop songs to accompany the children in the swimming pool where this morning we chose to forego the aquarobics in favour of dodging the many jellyfish that had headed to shore during the night. My drink was strong but not unpleasant, and I had nothing to do but stare at the ocean.

Walking along, the sand underfoot feels at once strange and comforting as it massages my soles and connects me at once to the earth and to the ocean. People lay spread out on their loungers, wearing as little as is decent, soaking up sunshine and mixed drinks. As comfortable in their leathery skins as they are in their surroundings.

 

A solitary recliner in the shade of a rock; I sat and snatched the mask from my face, sucking in lungfuls of sea air, aware that I had unconsciously chosen a spot as far from all the unmasked beachgoers as I could. I tried to read. I did. But the stillness of the ocean and the distant horizon kept up their competition for my attention and won.

 

2

I awoke the next morning to marvel at the silence. The ocean, a very short walk from my room, was as still as it was the evening before. The tide had gone out, taking the jellyfish with it. I stepped onto the veranda and immediately retreated, shutting the door as I did so. It felt as if I had stepped into a sauna, and someone was trying to give me a rubdown with a wet towel. I had to go out, I needed to see the sun rise, and if I moved quickly I would only need to keep the my mask over my nose and mouth for a minute or two. I tried again, feeling the condensation form on my cool skin and immediately evaporate.

 

Sunrise came at about 5-45, it didn’t peep over the horizon, I was facing the wrong way. It came from the ocean, lighter and lighter, then it was on me, and I felt my eyes close, and my arms raise as I embraced the new day.

“Bon jour!” the chirpy voice of the security guard snatched me out of my reverie. “Bon jour!” I chirped back.

“Something, Something, aujord’hui!”

“Pardon?” I said in English.

“No jellyfish today.” He pointed, I nodded. “Enjoy the sun.” He turned his palms up the way I had and walked away in his uniform, cap, and mask.

 

My day had begun, and I needed a cup of coffee. The dining room with the good stuff only opens at seven, I might as well have a shower and brush my teeth. There is coffee in the room, and a kettle, but it is instant, and I don’t do that. Not even in a crisis.

 

The thing about the beach is that once you’ve seen it, you’ve seen it. Fine for those who want to sort out a year’s worth of vitamin D issues in a week. But that’s not for me. I can’t sit still.

After breakfast I grabbed my mom by the hand, covered her in sunblock, shades and the ubiquitous surgical mask, did the same to myself and headed out of the main gate and down the road.

 

 

3

The sheltered quarters of the resort are really a place of privilege. True, it creates employment opportunity, but as you leave the confines of cocktails on demand and curated volleyball, you enter a world where everything is hard work, even being indolent.

 

The street offers little shelter in the form of shade, the walls on the ocean side are too high and the trees are planted strategically, while on the land side there are homes, too many of which are incomplete, and the open land is overgrown with weeds, or it is an allotment where various types of squash flourish and mangoes are coming into season. There are dogs everywhere; too many to belong to the houses we can see, but none look malnourished. Its like the canine depiction of the residents and the visitors, uncomfortable but nobody is hungry. My inner cynic smirks at this comparison as a young bitch, who has clearly recently given birth, saunters by.

 

I am not given to overthinking the situation I find myself in. I allow the thoughts of disparity to flight across my mind as a matter of course, but as much as one is given something to start with, choice is always present.

 

The walk along the dead straight road is pleasant as the sun bakes down on people going about their business, mostly fishing, or heading to the shop for provisions. We stop once more in the shade of a massive tree near a little docking place for fishing boats. A lone boy in his mid-teens sits astride a paddle board with a rather long fishing rod and paddles a way out before he casts his line. A short distance from him a man with an even longer fishing rod packs up his kit and heads for shore in his little rowing boat. Two ladies in overalls stop sweeping the sidewalk to watch the man, he appears to have caught their dinner. They nod at us as we leave to continue our walk. One says “Bon-jour”, the other belches.

 

There isn’t much else to see as we walk, ocean, beach, dogs. We are too close to the beach front resorts to really get a feel for living locally and it’s too hot to risk getting lost. Those who have sidewalk stalls and beach huts selling food are beginning to open up shop. It’s not that we are early its just that what they have to offer is only in demand later in the day.

 

The amount of traffic is more than expected, and it is evident that nobody is in a hurry. Buses are quite regular, at least every ten minutes and all seeming to head for the city. They are inexpensive to ride but take considerably longer to get anywhere, and do not have any kind of air-conditioning.

We make it back to the resort in time for a cocktail. Yes, before lunch.  

 

4

With a high of 36 degrees Celsius and a low of 32, and humidity close to 90percent, there is no waiting for it to cool down a bit before you go anywhere. By now we have dipped ourselves in the ocean and in the swimming pool, gone looking for a shop to buy an ice cream and imbibed too many cocktails to count.

 

We have arranged a taxi to take us into the city after breakfast. Its expensive, but cool air blasting our faces is the big motivator here and being from Johannesburg we decide to use what the hotel offers so that we can have recourse should something go awry.

 

The taxi driver is a congenial chap, who when required also offers tours to various parts of the island and even though we just ordered a straight trip he is a font of information. His English is certainly better than our French.

 

The heat and humidity follow us wherever we go, and it is no different when we reach our destination. Its like any city with some type of waterfront and quite modern. I don’t enjoy the markets, and even though they have separated the sections into fruit and vegetables, spices and gifts, meat it all seems frantic and desperate. I don’t know if my sense of adventure has diminished or if I am just not in the mood to be cajoled without let-up. We leave without buying anything and exit via an alley between two meat processing buildings. Mercifully not through them.

 

5

The heat has driven us to find air-conditioned shelter. The suburban light rail train with its huge glass windows and cheap fare is just the ticket. A rest, some cool air and we get to see the suburbs. The train was built using tourist money but is intended for resident use, so it does not go anywhere near the resort areas. It crosses the island diagonally at present, but building continues.

 

6

A few hours and I am done. As are my companions. We head back to the hotel. Our driver has parked at a prescribed spot and waits for us. He is not allowed to do any work other than ferry resort guests back and forth.

 

A Tamil temple, though I would be hard pressed to tell the difference, appears on the side of the road as we are about to head out of town. It has been closed because of the Covid19 situation on the island, but the driver offers to drive us around it and maybe we can get a good picture or two. His effort was blessed. The gate was ajar as we approached. “Just take off your shoes and go in.” he instructed, with a promise to wait for us.

 

Millions around the world visit places like this every day. I am so thrilled to see this first hand, and for my first time. Mother and I wandered around taking millions of pictures. The art, the colours, the devotion are incredibly difficult to convey without actually seeing it all. God and goddesses, tales and prayers. Some I recognised, most were a mystery.  A moment I have been blessed to share with my mother. Something I will cherish for life.

I think tomorrow is a stay at the resort and keep out of the sun kind of day. Everyone agrees.