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
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.
