It was an assault on the senses, albeit a gentle one. I had landed in a world of vivid greens and blues, of chattering birds and new, intoxicating scents. The previous 18 months now seemed a monochrome blur from which I had emerged into an enchanted land of dazzling light.
Walking to my hotel room, colourful birds played in the lush vegetation, almost close enough to touch. Looking towards the sea, the beach was a dreamy sweep of white sand, dotted with shade-giving palm trees. The turquoise-blue water was invitingly calm, with a white line of breaking surf offshore marking where the reef formed a defensive barrier. A glass-bottom boat had just returned from an excursion and discharged a clutch of grinning snorkellers who excitedly swapped tales as they clambered out.
“Within minutes of landing, I had to pinch myself to check I wasn’t in some alternate fantasy world as we bumped into a lumbering giant tortoise”
I was visiting Mauritius just ten days after it reopened to tourism, and visitors were being welcomed back with huge – and relieved – smiles. “Welcome, welcome,” one beaming hotel worker said to me. “If you’re happy then I’m happy.”
That night I fell asleep to the sounds of crashing surf and trade winds brushing the palms.
