Tourist Life and Intercontinental Communication Foibles

I don't usually consider myself a tourist. I realize that this is probably not accurate and that students abroad are in many ways just glorified long-term tourists, but nonetheless, I prefer to think that I'm special. Sometimes, however, I suspend that judgement on myself and pursue the most touristy things that I can think of- I do, after all, live(ish) in a tropical island paradise. 

For example, recently I went to Club Med. I'm pretty sure most people are familiar with the institution, but for those that aren't, Club Med is an all-inclusive resort company that operates all over the world. They have two resorts in Mauritius. The company has been accused of providing people with insular bubbles in troubled places, so that visitors are surrounded by touristy poshness and cannot see the real and in some cases horrific conditions in some of these locales. Bah, I say. Bring on the drinks with the umbrellas. 

My friend Emma and I bought day-passes. This way you can enjoy all of the included food, beverage, and fun you want from the hours of 11am-6pm without actually having to fork out the gagillions of roupies to stay there overnight (or having to sully your socially-aware conscience quite as much). I won't tell you how much day passes costed us, but it was enough so that Emma insisted we "get our money's worth." This obviously involved gorging ourselves on the delicious buffet. I started with pizza and french fries, moved on to chopped suey, consumed some creole-style eggs, and then had a giant salad. I actually ate much more than this, but it could get embarrassing for me if I listed everything. Oh, and Emma and I split a giant ice cream sundae. Seriously giant. People assumed that we were on honeymoon. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure that was the common perception.

Anyway, after lunch we kayaked out into the bay to the catamaran on which Emma works. This was probably not the best idea after having consumed enough food for, well, the entire island. But we made it just as the catamaran was about to leave its anchorage. We were planning to spend some time with the boat crew, but they just said hello and left. I obviously splashed Emma with my paddle as punishment. We headed back to shore and set out drinking beachy things with those obnoxious umbrellas and snacking for the remainder of the day. I will say, there's some truth to the criticisms about Club Med. There's so much to do at the resort that some of the people that stay there probably hardly leave the complex. They'll return home to Europe thinking that they've been to Mauritius, and maybe they have. All I know is that the Mauritius I live(ish) in and the Mauritius they visited are two very different places. I guess if I consider myself a tourist, I consider myself to be more thorough. Nah, let's be honest. I'm totally morally superior. (Kidding) (ish) 

Also on my recent list tourist checklist, I went to the Museum of Natural History today in Port Louis. Normally I would not have been drawn in by a museum of this type, preferring the modern and contemporary art museums that contain works that some people don't consider art at all, but rather enlightened splattering or heaps of needlessly expensive junk. The only reason I went to this museum is because it has an actual dodo bird that has been "carefully preserved." The bird has been extinct for hundreds of years, so as much as I've been looking around my apartment for a live one, I know I'll have to settle for this bit of cultural taxidermy. So, I went into the building, completely bypassing the local fish and lizards, skirting thoughtlessly the indigenous insect life, ignoring fossilized everythings until I found the dodo. Ok, it was exactly what I thought it would be like. By far the biggest bird (living or dead) I've ever seen in person, the dodo looks like it could cause some damage if it stepped on your toes. Also, "carefully preserved" is probably not the most accurate description. The feathers were a bit dirty and both the face and legs were made of cheaply painted wood. But the body was real. I'm told. I suppose I should just be impressed that anyone has managed to maintain a dead creature in any kind of condition for that long, especially a specimen of an extinct genus. They wouldn't allow photography in the museum. I was bummed.

Also, much to my amusement, the dodo gallery at the museum received a lot of support, financially, scientifically, technologically, from various Dutch universities and institutions. This is amusing because it was the Dutch who hunted the bird into extinction in the 17th Century. Guilty conscience perhaps? 

So. As aforementioned, I have a Mauritian PO Box, as my beach apartment has no mailbox. I have yet to receive any America mail at all, though my mother told me she already mailed my 'save the date' card for my sister's wedding. I was excited to receive it, because it apparently has a series of nauseatingly cute photos of my superhuman sister Jean Anne and Mike, her superhuman fiance. The card hasn't come. It's been a long time. Let me say though, that I really don't need to 'save the date.' I've already been measured for a tuxedo and my dad is arranging for my flights home for the ceremony in March. I mentioned this to a friend, who broke into several stories about Mauritius and postal problems. The one I remember best is that my friend, a Mauritian, once ordered several thousand dollars worth of equipment for a car that he was working on. He very insistently instructed the (American) company that he was ordering from to make sure that they put "Island of Mauritius" on the address. They rebuffed him saying that they were professionals and could surely handle a simple international delivery. After three months, the guy had still not received him package. He called the company, they said it had been shipped and should probably have already arrived. Eventually, the products arrived. The package had been addressed to the man, but instead of Mauritius, the address label said, "Mauritania," stamped as clear as day. Mauritania is a primarily desert country found in Northwest Africa. It's thousands of miles away from Mauritius.

I've recently learned that I can send text messages to America for relatively little money. I also recently learned that sometimes these text messages don't go to the person in America who I would've liked. I tried to send Sam, whose area code is 816 for Kansas City, a text message last night. I entered the number correctly- I've checked several times since then. A couple minutes after I hit send, I receive a reply: "i love you too, but i dont know who you are." The text message came from an American number with the area code, 765. After googling, I find that my text message had evidently been delivered to someone in Indianapolis. I replied back to them, "Sorry, that was meant for someone else. Guess the wires can get crossed when you're texting across 2 oceans. Also, probably best not to reply. I bet texting Mauritius is pretty expensive." Needless to say, they didn't reply.

Purchased: Rebel flag hat at Port Louis market. It says, "Good Ole Boy, Southern Born and Bred." I chose it over a selection of pink Auburn University hats and a few from Mizzou. It cost me less than $2 US. I explained to the man who was selling these hats what they meant. He seemed excited that they were universities and not counterfeit clothing brands.