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Friday, November 24, 2006
Thanksgiving at the Ambassadors
In celebration of Thanksgiving, the U.S ambassador to MRU invited all of the Americans registered at the Embassy to dinner at his house.
By all accounts, the ambassador’s digs were pretty fabulous... in addition to a sprawling house with a patio large enough to accommodate most of the dinner guests (about 50 of us in total), there were two tennis courts, a manicured garden, sculpted grounds, and satellite TV (so key!!).
And then there’s the kitchen, which, in addition to three ovens and an espresso machine, came with its own little French cook. Now initially, I was not pulsed by the fact.. being a wheat-free vegetarian and all, French cuisine isn’t really my thing (Have you ever tried a salade nicoise? Well, don’t.. just don’t.). However, when I thought about it a little longer, I realized that getting crepes and fruit salad served to you every morning as you dine in your breakfast nook isn’t too shabby..
The ambassador himself was easy going and very hospitable. However, the fact that he doesn’t speak French makes me think that ambassadorial appointments are probably determined by a different system than proletarian, work-a-day jobs…of which, being chums with the President probably doesn’t hurt. In addition to rare paintings and family photos, the ambassador’s living room contained several pictures of himself and his wife grinning beside the Bushes in Crawford, TX.
Although most of us were a little disappointed by the find, one person in our group was kissing ass so hard he tried to chat up the ambassador about how he had heard that George and Laura were “nice, down to earth people” in real life. Aiyah... what has the Democratic party come to? Looks like we have more in common with Haggard and Foley that I realized: (namely, the fact that we’re all c**k suckers).
In any case, I guess it’s better to use tax payer’s dollars to put people up in posh houses than to fund wars. Especially since it’s all in the name of diplomacy. But how likely is it that the U.S will end up in WW3 with Mauritius? Hmm.. my intuitions say close to zero probability.
Coincidentally, I met another Yale alum at dinner .. she graduated class of 05 but moved back to Mauritius to work and be with family (she’s a citizen here). I am ravenously looking for new friends, so this is definitely good news :D.
As for dinner, it was slamming. Ate a lot of veggies, though no collard greens or yams were to be found. Also, the meat eaters were really happy to find turkey on site.
So yeah.. Happy Thanksgiving and jusqu'a la prochaine (until next time).
On Saturday afternoon, my friend Jason and I went on a people-watching adventure in Rose Hill, the second largest city in Mauritius and the nearest town to our home base of Quatre Bornes.
After getting off the bus, we did a little bit of window-shopping and picked up a pair of cheap sunglasses. However, after making two or three turns, we succeeded in becoming hopelessly and infuriatingly lost.
It was sort of like entering a parallel universe... all of a sudden we had left Rose Hill and were seeing signs for a place called Stanley. Moreover, whenever we stopped passerbys to ask for directions, they stared at us with blank facial expressions, regardless of whether we were speaking French or English. And then, the few people that didn't look at us with total non-comprehension advised us to catch a bus...
What?? Since when do you walk for 10 minutes and suddenly need to catch a bus?
Eventually, a pair of Mauritian women gave us instructions on how reach Rose Hill by foot. Yet, sure enough, the walk back ended up being four times as long as the trip down in the first place.
Despite the length of the walk, there were nice sights along the way. First, we stumbled upon a Chinese shop called the First Hong Kong Superstore that, in addition to having an incredible name, boasted the oddest assortment of groceries imaginable. Ironically, there was no fruit or fresh produce, but five full shelves of firecrackers and an assortment of candy...
We also passed a house with the Chinese characters for double happiness (xi3 xi3) engraved into the molding of the front porch.. each letter about five feet tall. Just as I finished doing a translation for my friend, an incredibly cute Chinese baby darted across the yard, wearing the Mauritian equivalent of LA Lights.
The neighborhood must have been old, because in addition to the house with the monumental Chinese sculptures(not something you'd see in a new build), there were a series of houses made out of wood -- the first such buildings I'd seen on the Island. Trees have been scarce on the Island for decades, so most homes are made of concrete.
The wooden houses that I spotted had vaulted roofs with little wooden steeples on top and intricate moldings around all the windows. All in all, the architectural style was vaguely colonial and reminded me of houses you would spot in Salem, Massachusetts back in the era of the witch-hunts. Given that we were lost in the first place, feeling like we were Back in New England was all very disorienting.
Anyways, two hours after first getting lost, Jason and I finally made it back to the main road and familiar landscapes. We both wanted a stiff drink but instead settled for ice cream, since we spotted a shop within walking distance.
Inside the ice cream parlor we met Sajid, a Mauritian living in Paris who had returned to the Island to bury his mother and was staying behind until the "lychee bloom." Accompanying him was his 13-year niece, an awesome kid who spoke impeccable French and English and talked about wanting to travel the world and become a pilot.
Once Sajid realized that we were American and not Mauritian, he began chatting us up about American culture... and naturally, Elvis. When it became clear that our Elvis repertoire paled in comparison to his own, he offered to treat us to a couple of songs. Apparently, he had been doing Elvis covers around Paris for years.
After being serenaded, the group of us sat down for ice cream and talked about the plausibility of Jesus being buried in Kashmir (???) for the better part of an hour. According to Sajid, Jesus's body is in India and the Vatican is simply covering it up. Hmm.. maybe Dan Brown should start taking notes. Sounds to me like material for his next best seller...
So, even though I did not see very much of Rose Hill on my adventure, I visited the town of Stanley, saw homes that recalled colonial New-England, listened to Elvis covers and made friends with a 60-year old man and a 13-year old girl. Huzzah!
