Last hours of 2009...

Last day of 2009
Good morning.
I had a wonderful dream... there were 3 dears and I was caressing them . They were not afraid at all...
Here is what a dream interpreter says:




In an archetypal light, the deer is closely related to the ancient European goddesses... If you have had an "otherworldly" dream where a deer is present, research on the animal might uncover your true path in life...


I love the sound of that. I am just wondering - must I research the deer to find my true path? 


 oh myyyy... what cutie!!! I love the path already...
Here is what I find:

Deer are selective feeders. They are usually browsers, and primarily feed on leaves. They have small, unspecialized stomachs by ruminant standards, and high nutrition requirements. Rather than attempt to digest vast quantities of low-grade, fibrous food as, for example, sheep and cattle do, deer select easily digestible shoots, young leaves, fresh grasses, soft twigs, fruit, fungi, and lichens. (okay, sounds familiar, if I just could become a vegetarian...)
Deer establish a territory and will not leave it.
Deer are known to starve rather than leave their domain.
Deer are excellent swimmers (that sounds really familiar)


Not much more yet... Maybe in time I will find some more facts of interest.





For now, I just got 1 wish: please...2009 go away...
Fast...
Let 2010 arrive, with shine and glory... And let the good stars rotate true our universe...
Saturn, or so the Astrologists say, was the culprit for our never-ending bad luck the past 3 years and he is now shooting into the next constellation to spread trouble and disaster... How can one planet do so much bad? They ought to rename him something more fitting - like Darfvader!? At least then one would know what to expect.


The weather is once again, cloudy with a very few spells of sun, but at least not nonstop raining as predicted in my trusted forecast side. (maybe time to find a better weather frog)
We are going for a midday foot massage at the Spa's outdoor couple parlor. Listening to the chirping of the birds and the wind ruffling the leaves it is a serene setting and I am looking forward to my soothing foot massage. 
BUT...
But Indian foot and leg massage is undeniably not Reflexology. Be warned.
So here I am, in a blissful state of cloud nine - couple massage parlor - when the hands start rubbing me  in a strange movement. The hands feel cold, not slippery-oily at all and create an odd fraction on my touch-deprived soles. I am torn between like and dislike and I am sure, that this must be just the beginning.
IT IS NOT.
The feeling of unease grows by the minute and my feet are in disapproval and pain. Some moments later my poor muscle above the ankle gets attacked by slaps. I am actually beaten up and I have done nothing bad.
I am trying to communicate my suffering and get rewarded with some more fraction-rubbing stuff, which by now is beyond my willpower capacity of Ignorance. I am ANNNOYYYYYYED. I am hurting.
I want my hour over. I don't care. I want to run away now!!! 
Luckily time is with me and we are finished just when I could not bare it any longer. I smile, better say grimace at the girl, mumbling a nice and wonderful (meaning hell, awful, autch, why???, do I pay for this??) and storming out the parlor, I meet Prince outside. 
Maybe it was my massage girl and not the massage type, as there is my Prince shining and serene.
Floating, he describes his momentary state. 
???
I am loathing, no floating!
Mhhh... but,... Am I willing to give it one more try? 
With an *after-orgasm-glare (no, we were in the same room, I am sure, even though my eyes were closed) he books for the 1.day of 2010, tomorrow.
"What better way to start the New Year" he teases and light-footed dances around the reception-girls and me. Not mentioning my bad experience (while he is on cloud 9, I feel too bad to make him fall down) I agree.
Maybe, maybe it was the lady, not the massage, I convince my doubting self.


Time for a little bit of beach, in the sun-rain weather and when sunset hour arrives (not that we see anything but clouds) we head back to get dolled up for champagne reception and the New Years bash. Wearing a turquoise, coral print, long dress by Diane von Fuerstenberg, my lovely (expensive) seashell jewels from the Port Louis bazaar and slinky Swarovsky studded GINA heels (useless idea), we venture into the last of Saturn's vicious powers.
Everyone is already at the bar, slurping champagne and munching caviar (not Beluga, they promise) and oysters. We have a few glasses of bubbly and my head starts spinning. Not a good idea -champagne on an empty stomach! I nose-dive into the trays of appetizers that pass me magically, hoping to fill up the bubbling alcohol content that has invaded my brain and tongue. Best to keep quiet I remind myself, or I might say something out of order. But then, it is New Year's Eve, and everyone else, already tipsy and talkative, seems to chatter and slur away without worries... I put on my best dreamy looking grin and stare into nowhere, pretending to be rather mysterious. (it never fails to work)
Time for dinner and I am saved from my own mystery...
Igor, waiting at the stairs, greets everyone with a proud smile and I am looking forward to his gourmet surprise. (wondering... it is new year's eve and he has to work all night... no time for family...)
Tonight he reminds me (proof, I am buzzed) of the cute skinny chef in Ratatouille... They are soooooo much alike... hick....hickkkkkkkkk
"Aren't they, Prince, hick?"
I slosh down a few glasses of water and the hick goes home. Thank god.


The menu, rolled up with a straw ribbon and cinnamon sticks is a truffle medley. I am ravished and ready...


                                        Marinated John Dory
                                   Seaweed jelly, kotachee &white truffle




                                Maroon Lobster Consomme




                                       Steamed Turbot Filet
                                Pata negra&hazel nuts, black truffle puree


                               Lime& Citrus Savory Tisane


                          Wagyu Beef Sirloin
                            
                          Caramelized Pear




Delicious!!! It was absolutely scrumptious.
Thank you Igor, Thank you Oberoi.

The show starts, a wild extravaganza of dancing and swirling, Mauritian style.
Now I know, what that outfit I bought is for. 
DANCING*
Our table is (by the way) stuffed with entertaining goodies. A venetian style mask for her, a golden top-hat for him, funny 2010 glasses (which Prince goes crazy about) and of course, noisemaking things. Like kids! I guess that's why new years eve is such hit - it is a free ride for being childish, silly and drunk without regrets. Once a year, or maybe twice - on our birthdays too we can behave as badly as possible and IT IS OK.
But silliness to such massive extend only happens the last night of each year.

I love my mask, mysterious and sensual, it makes me feel like a seductress. (and so does every other female guest tonight, even the little ones...) Mix that with enough Moet and I am ready to show Agent Provocareur's commercials a dangerous competition... (or so I think, isn't it amazing how bubbly can make us feel beautiful, wanted and sexy, all at once!?)


Time is count-downing fast now and we get our grapes - 12 each and our pomegranate from the market. I had done some virtual detective work, to find out some good luck rituals from around the world. Since we are now Portuguese, the tradition of eating 12 grapes at midnight, one for each month, seemed fitting. Pomegranates are a luck symbol appreciated mostly in the Arab world. But also Turkey and Greece. With our good luck fruit platters and another bottle of bubbles we head to the sandy beach and join the fellow Oberoians for the 7min fireworks. 7-6-5-4-3-2-1-*******************
HAPPY HAPPY 2010!!!
Ploppppppppppp, goes the cork and the kissing and hugging starts everywhere, resembling somewhat a massive orgy, since all the girls are masked. The sparkles are wonderful, I admit I love fireworks, but do find it wasted money. It always amazes me how some lights and sparks can creat such ecstasy for the human soul. Even Christmas lights can create such joy in my heart, that tears seem a common reaction. Funny we humans.
7 minute show it is not. 

But who cares, since every resort and hotel around us is showing off too, and the sky is a colorful, yet explosive canvas till late into the new virgin morning of 2010.
Eating our grapes, calling out the name of each month (for the luck) we stay a while on the beach. Reflecting, wishing, dreaming. If one would only know what a new year has in store. But how did Forrest Gump say?
Life is like a box of chocolates...you never know what is going to be(in) the next..

I forgot to mention, of course, since  Saturn is still with us, that Prince's camera has been on strike all night. Our waiter Sonah, my favorite with the most warm and playful smile and a healthy dose of humor, seems to posses some magic powers and only when he served, the camera worked. But otherwise, it was on holiday. Perfect timing I say.
Saturn, Saturn, what can we say?
But the highlight comes when I go to the bathroom, peepee only (thank you good stars) and I flash, watching in dismay as the water over-floats with such speed, that I can not even react in time to get out of the bath!!! Yukkkkkkkk... With that much bubbly inside of me, I somehow don't mind and start laughing madly calling Prince for help. The WC swat team arrives and I hide behind Prince, feeling a bit bad, even though, it wasn't me...
2009... by by... you must go...
It is 2010 now...


The rain starts, sometime soon after the few remaining youngsters gather in the thatched party pavillon, listening to an extremely awful band scream into the microphone. This is very UN-OBEROI. I wonder if the real band got sick, a better offer or just partied too much?

Drinking some more helps to forget and muffle the screams called music and we tune into just the instrumental sounds, which after all are time tested classics like Prince, Madonna (just try to imagine the squeaking copy of the material girl...it sounded a mix of Bugs Bunny and the smurfs) and may he rest in peace-  Pop-God Michael Jackson. His copy of thriller is soo bad ('who's bad'), that the dance floor is empty, but for one goofy skinny dude with Einstein hair and eyes as big as fishbowls. He is odd, yet interesting and probably no older than 17. His funny Rasta like hair wobbles around his head like a halo and his moves are quite strikingly Michael style. I decide to give him a good tease and start copying his moves, like a shadow dancer. What one does when drunk! Like a shy deer (there we go...deer?) he freezes a few seconds, but guessing him even drunker than me, he continues till we both end up in some funny Michael tribute. At least we inspired the others to let loose and now the dance floor is full again, a jungle book (all the animals are here) scene in the warm summer rain.
When it gets a bit too smudgy for our tastes (too much partner changing with rubbing and kissing going on) we put on the golden glitter cones and hand in hand (my heels have long ago been ordered back to the villa) stroll through the wet morning towards our fluffy bed.


Welcome 2010 and with that we pass out..

Port Louis

Good morning...
The weather is rather moody today, sunny, rain, rain, rain, sunny.
No weather for the beach...Ahhhh...good, so no more brown splotches!!!
So how about a visit to Port Louis? What else to do?
Prince agrees and I get dressed in a short white cotton dress (BSBG) and my Panama hat, to hide from any invading UV rays.
We get the hotel taxi and make our way to the capital of Mauritius. It is sometime late noon and the traffic is pretty stuffy. Remarkable, I think, but then, Mauritius has more than 1 Million inhabitants, so no wonder there is bumper-bumper jam. Our moody -like the weather taxi driver - drops us at the outdoor Bazaar.

Oh, I lovvvvvve bazaars.
Bazaar means market.
Fair.
Gathering of sellers, dealers, buyers and spectators.
Means real people and real smells and just a taste of that true soul of a country. One can always tell about a nation, when visiting the local markets.
So here we are, it is just starting to rain again (of course) and we are in the need of some local Rupees. Every exchange station is busy and there are huge waiting lines. We end up at Barcleys, the shortest line, but still a 30 minute wait. Stuffed with Rupees we let ourselves get lost in the colorful mess. Be careful with you bag, Prince warns, but I just smile, since we both know, it is him who should be careful, as he learned the hard way on a recent trip to Switzerland. (yes, Switzerland, the country of safe and clean...now that the doors are open, it is not what it used to be... So next time you stock up on chocolates, watch that purse...)
I got a fat grin on my face and I am just enjoying the scene. The warm summer rain drips on my hat with a comforting plob-plob, while the vendors are screaming and shouting, trying to cover up goods with plastic blankets. I wonder how it was done before plastic? There must have been a way? Less easy and convenient, maybe, but also less harmful to mother earth. It is a scary thought, on how much plastic waste we have accumulated in such short time. Is it 60 years maybe? How long have human (un)kind walked or crawled the planet? 200 000 years, give and take?
So, when I stroll the beach now and the sand is littered with plastic bottles, straws and bags, this is an image no older then 60 years???


Read this to get really shocked!
The Midway islands in the Pacific (An island of floating plastic garbage twice the size of Texas is trapped within the current gyre in the middle of the North Pacific Ocean. The trash originated from countries that ring the Pacific and is continuing to grow in size. The Algalita Marine Research Foundation has been studying the phenomenon for over a decade. Charles Moore of Algalita calls it the Great Pacific Garbage Patch and describes it as a "swirling plastic cesspool"), the humungous field of floating garbage, is an infant in our time and of our time! ( another great monster baby of the 20.century). 
We have managed to pollute and to destroy in as little as 60 years more than in all those 200 000?
Why?
Are we not supposedly so very smart? So high in IQ and intellect? So much better than anything living, crawling, swimming or flying the planet? ( we are pretty proud "arrogant" creatures, thinking just the highest of ourselves)
But maybe I am dumb, because 1 and 1 is 2 and I still don't get it.


If you want to get shocked do some homework googling and find out more.
Be warned though! It is not a pretty sight.
David Rothschild, millionaire, adventurer, environmentalist and stud with brains, is going to sail his PLASTIKI, a sailing boat made of used plastic bottles, to the Plastic islands (Midway islands) to raise awareness.
An inspirational human and a gorgeous one!!!

I think somehow I totally lost my track, let's go back to the bazaar. Looks like too much rain is coming, so plastic has won once again and the market is now one Plastic island (on land).

Let's go to the indoor bazaar.

Sea shells, pearls, T-shirts, cheap dresses, herbs and spices, baskets, bags and special tea for Prince... Prince gets seduced by 2 flowery shirts, that look Hawaiian to me, but are Mauritian, or so we are told. My inner mermaid is eying the seashell jewelry and I decide on 2 bracelets and 1 pearl necklace, everything for 10 Euros. The simple necklace is beautiful in its imperfection. I put it on and think of Julia Child, my new heroine kitchen goddess. She almost always wore a pearl necklace, maybe I could follow this elegant statement? Of course, Prince loves pearls and finds them very erotic.

Men!!!

We enter the second building and I am getting much more excited - it is the fruit and vegetable market. I am in awe, staring at 'things', that seem totally out-worldly. And everything is oversized.

 Zucchinis are the size of my arm and we buy 2 pomegranates - for New Years good luck - the size of small footballs.

Our chef Igor must be in absolute heaven here... Imagine all the things one can cook up... Sadly though, I have no kitchen and I am on holiday, so I pull myself away from such heavenly goods and follow Prince to the waterfront 'Le Caudan.


This elegant promenade with more than 170 boutiques is advertised as the real MELTING POINT of Port Louis. I must agree, I am melting.. but from heat!
We are looking for the L'Escale restaurant, named one of the best by Lonely Planet.

Hot or not, it is a great place and we discover many cool shops and a famous local artist, who carves driftwood into faces. Ooops, ouchhhh no, no, I mean faces into driftwood.
Like a great Zen master, he is sitting on the floor, eyes in a distant land and a content aura of peace and harmony circling his hippy hat. Maybe it's the grass he smoked and not the Zen, but maybe its the same? His art is captivating yet painfully real. I see agony, I see fear, I see my inner demons in those carved faces and as much I like them, they also scare me. Maybe because they tell the truth. Funny, they seem almost like mirrors of the soul...
A shop selling bathing-suits, copycat of famous VILEBREQUIN, draws us in and we get a set - father and son - matching surf shorts, mine for 16 year olds, and Prince's, well, a bit bigger. I will shorten mine when back home and then the 2 of us can be in partner-look, even on the beach. I know...It is terribly cheeeeesey...
But this KIKO company needs to be watched out for. Smart people!!!

Ok, we made it finally to L'Escale, a restaurant in a hotel. It does, however, not look very promising. The hotel, trying to be grand, is rather shabby cheap and even the white linen on the tables, do not help to enhance the class that's missing. And luck seems to favor our noses' opinions, it is 3 pm and the kitchen just closed. I am sure we just got away from a serious tummy nightmare.
Lonely Planet, I used to worship you, but now... To your defense, maybe I just outgrew the backpacker's years and I am now more the CNN traveler or the Michelin guide girl. Even though I still own a backpack...


Prince is hungry - STARVING! - and I must use all my weapons and charm to keep him away from those dangerous fast food joints on the way back. We stop on one of those plenty - fresh fruit juice-wagons instead and have a multi-mix of fresh pressed vitamins. Mhhhhhh, that is yummmmy and healthy!!! Time to head back.
Port Louis was great. Not as clean, perfect and sanitized as Grand Baie, but charmingly real and alive. I loved it and will be back one day, any day.
Back at the Oberoi we go for a swim in the sea, very low tide.
Prince feels like doing nothing, so we stay in. Scrabble time and he does not say NO. YIPPPPPPIE!!!

Those rare moments must be taken advantage of!
We order some wine and those oversized T-bone steaks and some time, late into the night, we loose count and scramble up the scrabble. Nobody won, nobody lost and with that we are off to our heavenly soft four-post...


****

Just came across this delicious blog by a Mauritian girl...Mhhh, will try some sweet stuff she has up there...Very entertaining blog by the way...
www.valentinacrimbonutter.blogspot.com

Raining Pirates

Schhhhhhhhhhhh... the sound of rain is soothing for the soul...
And when it rains in Mauritius, it RAINS.
We take a rainy dip in our pool, cooled down to pretty chilling, with an umbrella. As not to get wet...!!!
What to do in Mauritius when it rains? Some googling work shows me a few ideas... Crocodile farm?-no, Botanical garden?-in the rain -no! Sugar museum? -No, Port Louis -maybe...
We order breakfast and poor guys arrive totally soaked.
I am watching youtube - Fred Astaire singing in the rain, as it fits the day perfectly. Shame, that the hotel doesn't have this film classic. Tears dwell upon my eyes once again, touched by this honey-sweet romance. Ahhh... the good old days, where did they go? If I would have a time machine, the 20's till the 60's would be my preferred time-destination. I just love the elegance, the romance, the grace and the dresses. Gloved hands and evening gowns, women looking like the dream-beings they ought to be. No hooded, dirty baggy pants culture, women in dresses and men with a top-hat, a perfectly cut 3-piece and those god damn sexy suspenders. Anybody remembers Brad in 'Legends Of The Fall' , with that white shirt and suspenders? I do have a very soft spot for those pant holders... they are just soooooo sexy! Prince, sadly is not convinced and every pair I bought him, ended up in the darkness of the unused(!) cupboard. Maybe in time...
I google the weather on my trusted German side and the outlook is rather bleak. 2009, of course, what else to expect? The good news - no sun, no more brown spots. And of course, the weather will get perfect just when we leave... Prince does not worry, it is good luck to have rain by year's end, he says...
The phone rings and it is Ganesh, the concierge who has arranged for our romantic candlelit dinner on the jetty tonight. He is very sorry to cancel it, but the weather gods are not with us, he says. We know, of course they are not. We politely decline the offer to dine at the 'wine cellar', which really it is just a room and no wine in sight.

Wettervorhersage	Mittwoch 30.12.09	Donnerstag 31.12.09	Freitag 01.01.10	Samstag 02.01.10	Sonntag 03.01.10	Montag 04.01.10
Wetter  Minimale Temperatur  Maximale Temperatur  Niederschlagrisiko  Windrichtung  Windgeschwindigkeit  Relative Feuchte

We do some computer work and then go for a dip in the pool. The sea is a no-no today, the color resembling something like old coffee.
I am surprised, that there is no saltwater pool, since the OBEROI Bali has the signature saline piscine. Swimming in salty water is like liquid heaven. Velvety soft, the salt seems healing and caressing, keeping  the body gently afloat. A pool, of course, can never compare to the sea...
Doing my 30 laps (30 only, as it is a big one), Prince is trying to distract me with all means. Flowers stuck in his nostrils, leaves growing out of his shorts, like a little boy!!!
I try hard to ignore my laugh attacks and keep my focus on swimming.
Swimming is by far my favored choice of keeping fit and sane. I can swim forever, lost in some sort of uber-world of thought. I have time to think, my mind clear and open, while my body glides true the wet pleasure.
Joining Prince at the pool bar, we are the only guests in this cloudy weather and our request for food seems difficult, as the pool kitchen is closed, due to rain. But once again, OBEROI, 1. class service prevails and our polite waiter arranges for our lunch, sashimi and salad for me and bad Prince a giant club sandwich, stuffed with calories of all colors and shapes.
I remind him, that by the beginning of 2010, sandwiches are history. Time to shape up and get healthy!!!
I promise to cook-light and simple - and sooo tasty, that he will not even notice, that it is DIET time.
The sky is getting a bit darker again and the wind is picking up, so we head back to our villa, which is now our nest. Cozy, warm and always with some hungry visitors - from pregnant cat to colorful birds-, it awaits us with the welcoming scent, that is unmistakable home.
Dinner time is coming late, since we are still full from lunch, but we do go out for a quick bite, both dressed in white linen, with our Oberoi umbrella, we make a bright entrance.
As good as Igor's cuisine may be, after a week in a hotel, every menu has the habit of becoming somewhat boring. Of course, I have not tried everything yet, like the venison, which would and could have passed for Xmas eve, if it wasn't for Prince's fishy order - or some other meaty stuff, but it is just too summery, to try such dishes. My favorite scallop appetizer could be once again the order of the night, but I must taste something new tonight. So I go for the squid ravioli to start and we then ask Igor for a simple angel hair-olive-cherry tomato pasta, simple and summery.
The ravioli is divine! It is like a palatial orgasm and I close my eyes to keep the flavors lingering in my mouth. Mhhhh... I am happy I forgot those scallops just once.
Our(my) choice of wine, is a South-African called Saxenburg, from a vinery dating back to 1693. That is an old vinery, must be good? It is a 2004 Cabernet Sauvignon, Private collection, but somehow we don't warm too much towards it. Full and husky, it has a strange smell, somewhat a bit too earthy, too moldy?
We are having great fun though, describing with blunt honest words, what this wine really tastes and smells like.
I shall keep those remarks to myself, as we did finish the bottle and it surely was not all that bad. Just a bit...
But checking the reviews later, reveals our utter wine ignorance... Are we just tasteless or is it ok to not like wines, which are considered good? Maybe, best way to join the wine path - drink what you like. Considered good or bad by wine experts, what does it mean? You must drink it, you must enjoy it and you certainly must pay for it, so you better love it, no??? 
Anyhow, here is the proof of our inexpertly -review:

This reserve quality wine is grown and made with minimum handling. Its deep color reflects the tightly packed fruit and tannins. The Saxenburg Private Collection Cabernet Sauvignon is wood matured for 12 months in new small French oak to enhance the clean, elegant and minty flavors. Being very concentrated, this wine will mature excellently.


In a jolly good mood we say good night to our team of waiters, only to be stopped by the nice English couple, dining with another set of English. Looking at the table, it seems the solid food feast is long over and drinkable desserts are now on the menu. I decline the offer to join for a nightcap, I am just in no mood to socialize, but after a heated 5 minute discussion about piracy in the Somalian seas, I can see Prince wakening and joining the delicate matter, of 'freedom to kill'.
Woooohhhhhh...

We pull our chairs and join.


Ok, I met many English and they all seem passionate hunters, but again, this is a subject I could easily loose my calm on. So now we are on to hunting pirates? Captain Jack Sparrow alias Jonny Depp - go and hide!!! 
Why not being able to shoot back, seems the right question though. The pirates can take over a ship, shoot and hurt and terrorize, and us -or let's say - the innocent others - have no rights, the couples argue. But looks like the English got it wrong. Prince confirms, that we can shoot back, we can even hire an army. But it is all connected and it is big business. Sounds to me, that everyone has his or her dirty fingers in the piracy pot, no wonder nothing seems to change. So we still play 'Pirates of the Caribbean', even in the 21.Century... Boys...
Boys will always be BOYS. That must be the answer. I just wished, they would all dress like Pirates, how fun!!!

The unknown English pair is getting ready to say good night, they got a plane at 6 am. It is now pouring once again and Sonah, the Food&Beverage manager is desperately trying to find some umbrellas, as they all have disappeared into the misty night. We stay for *another last* nightcap and enjoy some more ideas, on how to get rid of piracy. I keep my mouth pretty shut, since I have a very unrealistic and romantic outlook on pirates. Too many movies, Anna!!!
Time to make it to bed. Sonah finds another umbrella for us and slowly slowly, as not to step on any snail (they are sooooo magnificently beautiful, with a cone shaped house, they look like sea-creatures... I will not mention that Prince put one in the sea the other day, trying to save it!!! Poor thing drowned, obviously, and only later on we learned, that they live on land... Since then, we put every little mollusk we find on the mustard path, on to the grassy side, to make up for the dead one... SNAIL-SAVERS) and with the lovely sound of the raindrops falling on our circular canopy, we make it back to bed...


Night, night