I'm not pissed (well, right this second - I was last night), but this keyboard is fucked, so pardon any spelling errors.
Fuck this place is beautiful. Forget the sughar cane of Mauritius, this island has shades of Thailand and Zanzibar in it. Very hilly, full of lush jungle, white sands, and aquamariane sea.
I'm also burnt to crisp, but anyway.
The family. The family. We hired a car yesterday and toured around Mahe, dropping off to see cousins dotted around this place. They're living the life. My God. Why did my family ever leave this place? Firstly, the food. Creoles know how to cook. Spicy curries, lentils, and bread fruit stuff - I ate so much at thye buffet yesterday, I actually needed to go lie down I was so full. I stuffed my face. Someone needs to open up a Creole restaurant in Joburg, because this is the tastiest food in the world. It's my gran's cuisine all the way.
Bowel movements. My family has no problem discussing their toiletrine repertoire all. day. long. (A lot like other people I know, hardy ha.) They talk about their bowels all the flipping time. And that's when they're not baffing out loud. Yesterday we stoopped on the side of this jungle-like area, and proceeded to ask the ladies harvesting tea (they make shitloads of tea here) whether they could "snap one off."
In French too. They think we're the weirdest tourists in the world. And we are.
My grandfather is walking around talking to every local possible. Asking them if they know a Mrs 'Deloris' and a 'Bernard Jospin', like they're meant to know!
Thank heavens for my Canadian aunt. She's already ripped it up with me on one night, with my New Zealand cousin - and as we speak is making freinds with the Rastafarian dude on our beach.
Man this place is paradise. The French is whack, but it's paqradise. Right I'm off to find a daiquiri.