I’m back in New York City, nursing a cold and trying to get over the worst bout of jet lag I’ve ever had. I’m also inundated with work. Assignments were coming through just before I left Mauritius and a few news ones were offered as soon as I got back. I’m finding it hard to get back into the swing of work and that’s why I’m writing my blog – because I am essentially a very good procrastinator.

My last week in Mauritius was lovely. Again, my cousin Anwar, a very serious police officer and family man, took us out for more sightseeing. Our next visit was Mahebourg, which was the original port of Mauritius, during the Dutch settlement. It’s a lovely tranquil area that is surrounded by a cluster of villages, mostly inhabited by poor folk. Along the coast, you can still see a brightly colored corrugated iron shacks where families live. That’s Mauritius at its poorest. We drove up to Belle Mare, an unbelievably stunning beach. I’d say it’s the best stretch on the island. I’m not alone in my opinion because all the super exclusive hotels, like One and Only Le St. Geran (which is where we stayed for two blissful days) are situated here. The sand is as fine as flour and the sea is clear for miles. The coral reef is supposedly fantastic and JR loved snorkeling around there.

Before we headed for Belle Mare we stopped off at Flacq Market to stock up on vegetables and fruits. It’s a pretty large farmer’s market that only sells local produce but it was enclosed and heaving with shoppers so we quickly exited feeling hot and sticky. On the way to our car we came across a guy selling take away chicken biriyani out of a massive pot from the back of his van. At 50 rupees (about 2 bucks) for a healthy serving – it was the best bargain beach picnic I’d ever experienced.

The rest of the time I spent bonding with ma. I’ve been missing her terribly since I left. We spent our days walking, at the beach, cooking and chatting and in the evenings we sat on the small balcony upstairs at the beach house and sipped on dry vermouth with 7UP and talked some more before I gorged on her meat curries, ladaubes (tomato based stew), rougailles (spicy tomato salsa) and pickles. Ma — I miss you and you scrumptious food!

I’ve been soaking up the sun in Mauritius. I’m a couple of shades darker and covered in mosquito bites. I don’t know what’s worse the odd massive cockroach, the gargantuan spiders or all the mosquitoes. Paradise comes with consequences.

Jim left Mauritius for London at the crack of dawn on Thursday morning after gallantly flattening a cockroach in the bathroom for me. I’ve stayed on for another week. We’d arrived together three weeks ago, following a time in London. The British capital graced us with sunny skies, brisk but bearable weather and we were given two extra days courtesy of British Airways, whose check-in baggage computer system went caput. Anyone reading this should know that Heathrow Terminal 4 is like the third world. After driving all the way from South London to the airport we were told that we could travel but our baggage could not. Can you imagine? Me? Without all my creams, potions and many pairs of shoes for a month? I think not. So we turned around and went right back to where we started. Only this time JR and I threw caution to the wind and thought, “To hell with the weak dollar. This is a sign that we must make the most of London and spend, spend, spend.” And so we did.

Back to Mauritius. After our twelve hour journey here, excluding an extra two hours of sitting on the tarmac because of an, ahem, oil leak, we emerged the plane at Plaisance Airport to the waft of deep fried street food and sweet exotic flowers. That’s what Mauritius smells like wherever you go. Known in creole as gajak, Mauritian snacks are cooked up on practically every street corner, at all bus stations, bazaars, at the beach, outside schools and offices, in short – everywhere. Samosas, battered and fried bread, dholl puri (my favorite), deep fried aubergines, gateaux piment (a bit like a falafel but made with hot peppers) puris, roti and so much more. Eating this way is delicious and more satisfying then the slew of fancy restaurants opening up all over the island. Plus it costs next to nothing. If I didn’t give a hoot about trans fat, I could eat in Mauritius for fifty rupees a day (about 2 bucks).

Dholl puri — a very thin, flaky flat bread made with wheat and crushed dhal – are the best. This delectable savory pancake is always served with a little vegetarian curry, usually potatoes and butter beans, and a little spicy salsa sauce known locally as rougaille. They are sold in pairs and if I were bold enough I could eat five in a row.

Here’s a pic of dholl puri in the making:

We’ve been gorging on as much local chow as possible. Best meals yet have been my mother’s. It’s such a cliché to say so that but it’s true. Memorable dishes to date have been an unbelievably rich goat curry, chicken curry, octopus ladaube (a tomato based stew) and chicken biriyani. It isn’t the best season for fruits but we’re still spoiled with the likes of these cute petite pineapples, lusciously sweet papaya from my mother’s garden in Quatre-Bornes, short plump bananas, juicy ripe mangoes, fresh coconuts and fleshy avocado. How I’ll miss eating this way when I leave.

Today, we loaded into my cousin’s car and took a trip to Port Louis, the capital of Mauritius. We meandered through the old market and took a trip back in time, where musty old stalls sold dried spices, medicinal herbs, vanilla pods, straw baskets and fruits and veggies. I did the quintessential Mauritian thing and took in a glass of alooda, a cold, sugary milk drink filled with gelatinous beads of agar. The new thing here is to serve up a glass of alooda with a scoop of ice cream. I prefer mine old school.

After a dip in the ocean at the beach by my parent’s house, I watched the sunset and returned home to another amazing dish of chicken curry and roti, cooked courtesy of my Aunty Laila. I’ve quizzed all the Mauritian housewives on the curry powder here. What makes it so good? I’m talking umami here. At first I was suspect that MSG is in the mix but now I’m not so sure. Ma tells me that rumor has it that a little ground pulse and rice makes the concoction so good. In any case I’m taking a bag home!