Mauritius... and not only: Rodrigues too

The day that will see us leave for Mauritius has finally arrived: the suitcases are almost ready and Federico is running wildly around the house exuding joy and, apparently, health from every pore. The alarm that had gone off a couple of days earlier, when a sudden and ill-timed ear infection had struck him, seems to have subsided: he had immediately been given a timely antibiotic and, having averted the feverish attack, the count-down had continued... and it still, ideally, goes on, with the little boxes for days and hours already zeroed out for some time. There are now just a handful of minutes left until departure and we no longer know how to tell the little one to be calm because soon the grandparents will arrive to pick us up, with the camper, to take us to the airport, in fact, shortly after, the doorbell rings: it's them.

We load all the luggage and at 15:42 we leave the little square in front of the house, bound for Bologna. Along the way we talk mostly about trips: about the one we're about to begin and about the grandparents' trip, in Tunisia, which has just ended. Time flies and shortly after 16:30 we're at Marconi airport, we say goodbye to our escorts and cross the departures door with a trolley full of luggage and on top of the luggage... Federico, the ideal commander of the strange convoy. We head to the check-in desk and check in the suitcases that we'll see again at Mauritius airport in about twenty hours, then we go through customs and reach gate number three, from which, before long, we'll board flight Af 2129 which, according to what's written on the monitors, will depart right on time.

The wait is short and, shortly after 18:00, we cross the gate, go down a staircase and board a shuttle that will take us to our plane. A few more minutes and we're in front of the Air France Boeing 737, but the doors of the shuttle remain closed before our eyes: all the plane's staff seem busy getting a disabled person on board the aircraft and no one will be able to enter before this person is properly settled. So, a good deal of time is lost and when we finally lift off the ground in the direction of Paris we do so almost three quarters of an hour late. Yes, we're really flying towards the French capital and it seems a contradiction to go north and then return south, but it's precisely from there that we'll take off for Mauritius.

Below us there are, more than anything, clouds, a few snow-capped peaks can be glimpsed and later the chessboard of cultivated fields typical of the transalpine countryside appears. After about an hour the descent begins and at 20:28 we touch down at Paris Charles De Gaulle airport, an immense airport, with five terminals. We're in area "F" and have to transfer to area "A", and more precisely to gate 49A. To do so we have to go down and up numerous escalators, cross several gates and use a shuttle. We also take the opportunity to gain experience, since on our return we'll have to make the same journey in the shortest possible time so as not to miss our connection. Flight Af 3864 will presumably depart on time, at 23:15, and there are still more than two hours to go.

Fortunately we find a play area for children, complete with a television tuned to "Cartoon Network", and the time passes more pleasantly. Less pleasant was realising we'd put the camera through the x-ray, with the fear of having ruined a film... let's hope for the best! It's 22:30 and I go on a reconnaissance towards the gate we'll board from. Our plane has arrived, and it's an enormous Air France Boeing 747: it's really impressive and we'd never happened to take such a big one. Shortly after they let us on board and we settle into row twenty, the same row that had been assigned to us on the previous flight, except that in that case it was the last one and in this one... one of the first! (in total there are sixty!).

So the time of departure also arrives but, unfortunately, we're still stationary and the times stretch out slightly, then, close to midnight, the big plane slowly heads towards the runway for take-off.

We wander for quite some time through the intricate maze of runways of Charles De Gaulle, all bordered by very long lines of coloured lights, then, finally, we launch into the long run-up that takes us, a quarter of an hour after midnight, into the air. A few minutes pass and Paris is at our feet: the Arc de Triomphe and the unmistakable illuminated outline of the Eiffel Tower are clearly visible. I call Federico to the window and he manages to see it too... just in time, in fact shortly after he's sleeping blissfully. At one in the morning, while we fly over Marseille, we're served an improbable dinner, or perhaps a premature breakfast since in Mauritius, at this very moment, it's three in the morning. An hour later the coasts of Sicily run beneath us, illuminated by the flashes of a spring storm.

It's late and we try to close our eyes in the hope of managing to sleep, thus ideally shortening the long journey that still awaits us. Fortunately we manage to fall asleep, while our plane flies over the great African continent. Only once, in the middle of the night, do I wake up and look out the window: beneath us the bends of a great river can be seen... who knows which one? Finally day breaks and, right at the first light of dawn, the immense expanse of water of the Indian Ocean appears to our eyes, then, around 11:10 (Mauritius time), land reappears: probably Madagascar. A little over an hour later we're in full landing phase.

Beyond the glass the island of Mauritius immediately shows, at a glance, one of its peculiar characteristics: the luxuriant vegetation, so luxuriant as to make that small strip of land, seen from the sky, look like a big green stain thrown into the immense blue of the ocean. Just the time to enjoy the spectacle and, at 12:44, we land at Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam airport in Mauritius. The island, which measures 62 kilometres in length by 46 in width, is located at almost 20 degrees south latitude, just above the Tropic of Capricorn and about 880 kilometres east of Madagascar. Together with another handful of islands, scattered across the Indian Ocean, it has formed, since 1968, an independent state within the Commonwealth, the same state to which it gives its name: Mauritius, indeed.

The weather conditions don't seem optimal and big clouds almost completely invade the sky, but it's not cold and we realise this as soon as the plane's door opens and we go out, backpack on our shoulders, following the tide of people heading towards the conveyor belts to collect the luggage. With great joy we collect ours and head to customs. We complete all the formalities quite quickly, go out to look for the Exotismes representative (our tour operator) but find only those acting on its behalf in this part of the world: Mauritour... it doesn't matter, as long as they get us to the hotel as soon as possible. Very kindly we're garlanded and invited to board a small coach. We phone home to let them know we've arrived and, shortly after, we set off, in the company of other tourists, along the tortuous road that runs along the eastern part of the island.

The sea, in this stretch, can certainly not be called beautiful, but the landscape around is truly fascinating and more than once we find ourselves travelling between two banks of sugar cane. After more than an hour of travelling and with Federico now impatient we finally arrive at the Hotel Emeraude, which will host us for the next nine nights. The first impression, however, isn't the best. The structure, in fact, is located uphill from the coastal road and not on the seafront as we all expected. Then, however, thinking back to the travel programme, which plans to spend at the hotel exclusively the period of time between dinner and breakfast, we end up not giving the matter too much weight. We're welcomed with the traditional welcome cocktail and, subsequently, we're given the keys to room 227.

We immediately go up to take possession of it, put on our swimsuits, go down, leave the hotel, cross the road and reach the beach of Belle Mare in front of us. It's Sunday and everything around is full of Mauritians. We arrange the towels and lie down to enjoy the rays of a now lukewarm sun, while Federico, impatient, immediately empties the backpack containing his beach games that he hadn't seen for several months, practically since the last trip to Malta. The sea in front of us isn't exceptional, but we don't despair: we'll certainly see better ones in the coming days and this, for today, can suffice. We stay on the beach for less than an hour then return to the hotel so as to give Federico the chance to have that swim in the pool he'd been insistently asking for some time.

We settle on the sun loungers along the edge and stay there until dusk: it feels great and we take the opportunity to exchange a few words with an Italian couple (apparently the only fellow countrymen present at the Emeraude). Shortly after 18:00 it's already dark, there's a little shower and it's also time to go up to the room to get ready for dinner, our first Mauritian dinner... good, all things considered. Afterwards, however, the tiredness from the long journey takes over and, before long, we drag ourselves to the room... this time for a well-deserved rest.

We spend the first night fighting first the heat and then the cold generated by the air conditioner in order to beat it. Punctually, however, once the machine is turned off, the heat takes over again, and so it is, in practice, the whole time, until morning, then, finally, the alarm goes off, we get dressed and go to have breakfast. At 9:00 we go to reception for a small briefing, get some information and immediately request a rental car. Shortly after a Europcar official presents himself to us and, after a short negotiation, we agree on renting an off-road vehicle for the next eight days. This type of car, however, isn't immediately available and, for today, we'll have to "make do" with a white Renault Clio (licence plate 5487 CD 00), with the promise of getting the requested car as early as tomorrow morning.

Time passes inexorably and, finally, well past 10:00, we manage to set off to devote ourselves to visiting Mauritius. You drive English-style and we follow the road on the left

A beautiful sun finally seems to be shining when, at 8:00, we get out of bed and get ready for breakfast, then, around 9:00, we present ourselves at the reception where a Europcar representative is waiting for us to replace the car. We hand over the keys of the Renault Clio and, in exchange, we get those of the off-road vehicle: a white Suzuki Santana (license plate 2757 JL 97). Once the usual routine checks are completed and the necessary instructions received, we set off, amid Federico's enthusiasm for the new car, towards the center of the island. We take the wrong road several times and, after various mishaps, we finally reach the town of Quartier Militaire, an ideal pass towards the western part of the island. From here we then descend to Curepipe, the second city of Mauritius.

We set about looking for the Trou aux Cerfs: the crater of an extinct volcano that, although lacking a peak, should not be difficult to spot, imagining the most classic of cone-shaped elevations. Instead, misled by the expanse of houses and the almost total lack of signs, we struggle more than expected, but in the end we take the right road and arrive at the edge of the crater, about eighty meters deep and about seventy wide. It has been extinct for millions of years, so inside it grows lush vegetation and at the bottom there is a sort of marsh overrun by greenery. The view towards the sea is pleasant and on clear days it can even stretch as far as the distant island of Reunion. So we stay for a while enjoying, above all, the uniqueness of the place and then take the road again in the direction of the west coast.

Near the village of Floreal we turn onto a battered road that should, presumably, lead to the Tamarin Falls. Soon we find ourselves traveling along a dirt track among the sugarcane and we have no idea where the waterfalls might be. To tell the truth, looking around, there doesn't even seem to be such a difference in terrain as to make them possible, yet on the map they are marked, more or less, at this point. By now resigned, we think of giving up, but we meet a boy on a bicycle and ask for information. He immediately proves helpful and makes us understand to park the car, then motions for us to follow him on foot. After an initial flat stretch among the plantations he lifts Federico onto his shoulders and takes a very steep downhill path that goes deep into the undergrowth... certain bad thoughts only cross our minds and, trusting, we follow him.

Shortly after we arrive in a dreamlike valley, lush green, solitary and wild. All we hear is the sound of the stream flowing among the rocks before plunging more than forty meters further down, all we smell are the scents of nature (including that of wild pepper) and the chirping of birds... it's beautiful! We climb back up the same path, with Federico still on the boy's shoulders, who, not content, once we reach the car, accompanies us, getting on his bicycle, to a nearby Hindu temple from which the waterfalls can be admired from afar. In the end he asks us for two hundred and fifty rupees and we give them to him very willingly: he truly earned every one of them! We say goodbye to our guide and take the road again in the direction of the sea.

In this regard, and to save time, we turn onto what should be a shortcut, so we proceed swiftly between the usual two banks of sugarcane, until we encounter a private property sign, but we ignore it; after all, the direction seems to be the right one. At a certain point, however, we find the way barred by a gate complete with a guardhouse. We slowly approach pretending not to understand, apologize to the guard and he, kindly, opens the gate for us, so we exit the private property, reach the main road and "close the circle": the shortcut worked! Another handful of kilometers and we arrive, now close to the sea, at the Casela Bird Park, a sort of zoological garden mainly ornithological in character, but the park is closed for renovation and we have to give up the visit.

No big deal, it's 13:00 and, at this point, all that's left is to reach the nearby beach of Flic en Flac, the last stop of the day. The place is one of the most renowned on the west coast and rightly so: the beach and the sea are beautiful, the coral reef is very close and the panorama is appealing, with the rocky silhouette of Le Morne Brabant jutting out towards the open sea to mark the horizon line; only the palm trees are missing to give a more exotic touch to the setting, which is nonetheless characterized by a grove of filao (a conifer native to Australia very widespread along the Mauritian coasts). We have lunch and devote ourselves to beach life for the whole afternoon: a magnificent sun is shining and we finally have a nice swim.

I put on my snorkeling gear and go exploring on the reef: there are nice fish, even if sparse, so I take a few photos and then return to shore to invite Federico to follow me. It's his first underwater excursion and he's a bit excited, but he soon gets the hang of it, stays attached to me keeping his head underwater and manages to see some inhabitants of the sea, so he comes out really enthusiastic... congratulations little one, you did great! In no time at all it's 17:00 and we absolutely have to go; by now we know how quickly the sun sets around here. Indeed we arrive, again, at the hotel in total darkness, and it's not pleasant driving with all those dark-skinned people going around on bicycles without lights. On the way back Federico falls asleep, so we carry him, dead weight, to the room and then struggle to wake him up to make him take a shower.

After dinner we spend a pleasant evening in the company of the piano bar as well as Sergio and Simonetta (these are the names of the two Italians). The little one isn't sleepy, after his afternoon nap, and, also thanks to the music, we end up retiring to our room when the clock hands show almost midnight.

Another sunny day is in store... good, indeed very good: an entire day awaits us to be spent on the beach, probably the most beautiful on the island. We set off, aboard "our" Suzuki, heading south, along the coastal road, and cover a few kilometres until we reach the village of Trou d'Eau Douce, the boarding point for the world-famous Ile aux Cerfs. Along the final stretch of the journey, we are repeatedly invited to stop by the most varied and improvised boat owners who want to offer us their boat as the most suitable means of reaching the islet that is the destination of our excursion, but we decline every invitation: we know exactly where to go. We follow the road that leads to the Touessrok hotel and reach the public ferry, leave the car in the shade, in a guarded car park, and, for just one hundred rupees each, after fifteen minutes, we land on the Isle of Deer.

There are no deer, however; on the other hand, when we arrive the tide is low and the lagoon in front of the most renowned stretch of beach is a sea of sand. We are immediately enticed by a boy who offers us a boat excursion to the nearby waterfalls and that is exactly what we were looking for! We agree to leave at 11:00 and walk towards the eastern part of the island in search of a stretch of sea that can, in the meantime, satisfy our expectations. The place is extraordinarily beautiful and we have no difficulty finding it: the water, a delicious turquoise colour, laps the whitest beaches and we are simply spoiled for choice in deciding in which corner of paradise to stop. We meet Sergio and Simonetta (on an organised excursion) and settle down beside them, so we chat a little, but with that wonderful view in our eyes, time flies and before we know it, it is 11:00.

We gather all our things, say goodbye, and head towards the agreed point for the start of the excursion. We expect to be part of the usual herd of tourists, but instead we find ourselves alone aboard a small motorboat piloted by a folkloric rasta and this only pleases us. The boat skims across the lagoon while an enormous smile spreads across Federico's face; he seems to be having a whale of a time. We thus reach the waterfalls of the Grande Riviere Sud-Est river, whose waters plunge, after the final drop, directly into the sea, creating a particularly striking overall picture. We disembark onto the rocks facing them and are accompanied by two Mauritian men, who carry our little one on their shoulders, as we climb up the stream.

In a few minutes we reach the top of the waterfalls and are invited to enter the water, but only I follow the advice, so one of the guides accompanies me in an unforgettable series of dives, then an original hydromassage, and all of it, I must say, particularly amused me. We go back down to the boat, leave a hundred rupees as a tip for the Mauritian men, and set off again. Behind us the view is stunning, with the colours of the sea, the land and the sky contrasting magnificently with one another. We arrive at the coral reef to go snorkelling: I put on my mask and, in order to put on my fins, I get into the water convinced I cannot touch the bottom, but instead I bump the seabed with one foot... just a scratch, I got off extremely lightly, considering the amount of coral there is! There are also lots of fish and they are beautiful.

I take a few photos then try to help Federico get off the boat, but unfortunately he digs his heels in saying the water is cold... and it absolutely is not true! He gets into the water and then climbs back up, protests, shouts, and goes back down again, then once more climbs back up: on the third attempt, finally, he puts his head under the water and he too, like us, can enjoy the spectacle! A shame only that time flew by, thus drastically shortening the duration of the underwater excursion. We return to the Ile aux Cerfs where, in the meantime, the tide has risen and the beach has taken on a completely different appearance. We have lunch in the shade of the filao trees and enjoy the extraordinary beauty, the peace and the infinite tranquillity of the place which, to be honest, we expected to be certainly beautiful but more chaotic and invaded by hordes of tourists.

We phone Roberto and set the catamaran excursion to Ilot Gabriel for Friday, while the afternoon slips away amid immeasurable baths of water and sun. A shame about a few tantrums from Federico that break the spell for a moment: he doesn't want to wear a T-shirt to go in the water, but it is unavoidable given the less than reassuring colour on his shoulders... in the end, however, he is convinced and later we reward him with an ice cream (which cost a fortune!). At 17:00 the last ferry sails and, reluctantly, we have to leave the island, so when we arrive at the Emeraude there is still sun and we stop at the edge of the pool to chat before going up to the room to "restore" ourselves for dinner. During the evening the weather conditions worsen and it starts to rain, so we take refuge under the arcades of the bar, with Federico spending the whole time drawing in Simonetta's company.

The day begins very early: for some time I had been feeling Federico tossing and turning in bed in the grip of a restless sleep, then, at 2:00 in the morning, he wakes up and starts crying saying his ear hurts... bingo! Perhaps it was the wind, caught on the boat at full speed. We immediately give him antibiotic and paracetamol so, after a while, he calms down in bed with Sabrina, while I try to get back to sleep, full of thoughts, in his bed. The alarm goes off at 8:00 and we are all a bit dazed but the pain seems to have passed, there is no fever, and we decide to continue with the programme of visits.

After breakfast we set off in the direction of the capital Port Louis, heading south, passing Trou d'Eau Douce, and we make our way towards the centre of the island near the town of Bel Air, from where a characteristic stretch of road begins that winds at the foot of the Blanche Mountains as far as the village of Camp de Masque, crossing lush plantations of sugar cane, pineapple and bananas, in a magnificent rural landscape. In the late morning we reach the chaotic Port Louis and immediately the Ile aux Cerfs comes back to mind, whose peace and tranquillity now seem to us light years away. By now used to the beaches and the quiet villages scattered all over the island, even a town of one hundred and seventy thousand inhabitants appears to us like a metropolis.

We park with difficulty in a side street and immediately head towards the characteristic market, located in the same place for more than a century now. We venture inside while Federico, exhausted after the difficult night, drags his legs with difficulty and before long ends up in his mother's arms. The population of Mauritius is a true melting pot of races and the market is the beating heart of Port Louis: Indians and Chinese, Creoles and Europeans offer, on their stalls, the most varied exotic goods. We make a few purchases but before long we have to put an end to the visit: the little one, much to his dismay, is a drag on our feet and, above all, a rather heavy burden to carry.

We leave the market, decline an illegal dollar exchange, preferring the safer, though probably less advantageous, one at the bank, and then try to enter the Jummah mosque, the most important in the country, but we are not granted the honour, so we retrace our steps and head towards the car. We move to the northern outskirts of the city to visit the Tamil Hindu temple Minatchee: an extraordinarily construction studded with colourful decorations and with a typically oriental flavour, probably recently built but nonetheless full of charm. We take off our sandals and for a while wander inside it in search of the best angles to take some photos. It has long been past 13:00 when we head back towards the centre of Port Louis in search of a supermarket and something to eat, but, it seems impossible, we cannot find one.

We then ask for information from a busy Mauritian man in a jacket and tie, try to make him understand that we are looking for a place to buy something to eat: he looks around, glances several times at the watch on his wrist, hinting that he is in a hurry, then tells us to follow him and takes us in front of a pizzeria. By now it is late and we follow his advice. We eat margherita pizza and drink coke, then, refreshed, we resume our visit of the city. Above all Federico seems to have literally recharged his batteries and is now bursting with energy. We go up to Fort Adelaide, built by the English in 1834 as a defensive bulwark, and observe the panorama over the capital unrolling at its feet... nothing exceptional, to tell the truth. Then we reach the Thien Thane Pagoda, a tower building in Chinese style, rather bare and devoid of architectural charm... this too is nothing special.

We thus complete our visit to Port Louis and head towards its southern outskirts. We arrive, after a short stretch of road, at Domaine les Pailles, an estate within which there is an old rum distillery, which we reach with the help of a characteristic carriage driven by a folkloric coachman. We follow a route that illustrates the various stages of sugar cane processing, including a mill powered by a large ox with enormous horns. Two unpleasant attendants, however, refuse to let us see it turning, and this because we chose not to take part in the guided tour, available only in English or French. This fact contributed, along with the paucity of the whole experience, to making it all a small disappointment, the coachman aside. We return to the car and move to the nearby villa of Eureka which, built in 1830, was once the residence of the English royal household on the island of Mauritius.

Its typically colonial and anything but sumptuous appearance integrates it perfectly with the surrounding landscape. We visit the park and the interiors, furnished with period furniture and fittings, including a reconstruction of the dodo, the bird symbol of the island, brought to extinction over three centuries ago by the Dutch colonists, who appreciated its meat. In the end we leave the villa, all things considered, satisfied and ready to set off again, but it is 16:00 and there is no time to go to the beach, so, calmly, we return to the hotel, while Sabrina, who had predicted a nap for Federico on the way back, falls asleep and the little one stays awake and perky. When we arrive at the Emeraude we go and settle at the edge of the pool waiting for the sunset, while a short distance from us a coconut falls with a dull thud.

I pick it up and, under Federico's curious gaze, I strip it of the outermost fibrous husk, then give it to him and he takes it to the room as if it were a trophy. We write the postcards and, later, go to dinner, then phone the grandparents: immediately the little one enthusiastically tells the story of the coconut and the fish he saw. We then spend the evening pleasantly, entertained by a Séga show, the traditional Mauritian dance. Once the entertainment is over we say goodbye to Sergio and Simonetta, who are leaving for Italy, and retire to our room: tomorrow morning a rude awakening awaits us in order to catch "Roberto's" catamaran leaving from Grand Baie, in the north of the island, at 9:00. We will stay at sea all day and would not want to have problems: for now Federico seems recovered... let's hope for the best!

The alarm goes off early: shortly after 6:30 we are already up and quickly get ready. We have to leave the Emeraude by 7:30 to be, an hour later, at Grand Baie, in the extreme north of Mauritius: there we have an appointment with Roberto who will accompany us at the start of the excursion to Ilot Gabriel and Ile Plat, two islets located off the coast, beyond the coral reef that bounds it. We have a scanty breakfast, courtesy of a waitress, even before the buffet opening time, and immediately take to the road. We go the wrong way a couple of times but, at 8:30, as planned, we are at the only traffic light in Grand Baie for the appointment with our man. He is not there and we phone him... you never know, maybe he forgot, but instead he tells me he is slightly late and will be there in ten minutes.

Indeed he arrives striding along, greets us cordially and gets into the car with us, then has us park and accompanies us to the jetty. The catamaran is moored on the other side of the bay, to pick up some tourists, and while we wait we talk to Roberto: he tells us that in Mauritius, at the moment, there is also Jean Todt (sporting director of Ferrari), who will go on the excursion tomorrow, but with a boat all to himself... can that be true?... I have quite a few doubts about it. At 9:30 we get on board and set sail in the company of eleven other people plus four crew members. As soon as we are outside the coral reef they turn off the engines and hoist the sails; the wind is blowing and, mindful of recent events, we protect Federico's ears with two cotton balls.

We face the big waves of the Indian Ocean, which are impressive even when, as today, the sea is described as calm, and the spray that occasionally reaches us has already almost completely soaked Sabrina, who chose, to sit, a not particularly happy position. Halfway along the route we encounter the rocky island of Coin de Mire and continue, passing it on the left side, always at the mercy of the waves. After a little more than an hour and a half we enter the lagoon between Ilot Gabriel and Ile Plat, preparing to land on the latter. We moor to the rusty wreck of an old boat and go ashore. The beach is dazzling white and the sea fantastic; a shame about the wind which does not invite Sabrina and Federico to enter the water; I, however, while waiting for lunch, put on mask and fins and treat myself to a swim.

The seabed is rich with coral formations and shoals of colourful fish circle around me: it is a paradise! At midday we eat, sitting on the ground and in the shade of an improvised awning, an excellent lunch of fish, meat and fruit, including the curious grilled bananas and a sublime lobster, then we return to the beach: the rendezvous for boarding is set for 14:45. We enjoy the magnificent place for a while longer: the peace and tranquillity are absolute, in front of us the blue of the sea contrasts with the thin line of vegetation of Ilot Gabriel and further away, on the right, the severe rocky outline of Coin de Mire stands out. I take another swim among the fish swimming in a forest of corals and take a few photos, then Sabrina does too and she too can realise the wonder.

As always happens in these cases, however, time flies and before long we are back in the catamaran on the way home. Going against the wind the boat takes longer and two hours are needed to reach Grand Baie; in the meantime Federico, cradled by the waves, treats himself to a nap, while the spray, fortunately warm, continues to constantly wet our backs and bottoms, so much so that, on arrival, before getting into the car, we have to change all our clothes. We set off immediately for the Emeraude and reflect on the day just spent: it was memorable, despite the long sea journey which, at times, was not too pleasant. The little one, refreshed by his nap, is now perky and talks non-stop... the ear infection seems light years away! We arrive at the hotel, in the dark, at 18:30 and immediately go up to the room to get ready for dinner.

The evening has no entertainment, but we meet two Italian girls, the only fellow countrymen of ours to arrive after Sergio and Simonetta's departure, so chatting will be guaranteed for a few more days, and we will not be alone after dinner.

An intense day lies ahead, with many kilometres of rugged Mauritian road to cover in order to explore the highlands and the southern part of the island. After breakfast we climb aboard our Suzuki Santana and, travelling along the east coast, we reach the town of Mahébourg, which arose where, in 1598, the first Dutch colonists landed. Today it is a quiet little town known, more than anything else, for its proximity to the airport. From here we turn inland and begin to climb towards the plateau that dominates the region, we pass through the greenest tea plantations, and we arrive at Grand Bassin, which, despite its name, is a small lake of volcanic origin, but also the most important place of worship for Hindus in Mauritius.

Every year, in February, it becomes the destination of a pilgrimage that draws the faithful from every part of the country, and the large car parks, now empty, that surround it are evidence of this. The shore is dotted with small temples and altars, pervaded by an intense smell of incense. We take a short walk while it begins to rain, and it is no coincidence that it does so in this part of the island. The sun returns, however, when we start following the road that winds across the Plaine Champagne (which has nothing to do with the famous French wine). We are now constantly at altitude, above seven hundred metres, and we travel through the wildest part of the island, the only one that can still give an idea of what Mauritius was like before the colonists arrived to uproot the forests.

Today the whole area is part of the country's largest nature park, situated between the mountain ranges of Rivière Noire and Montagnes Savanne. Along the way we stop at a few well-signposted viewpoints to observe the deep and luxuriant valleys that slope down towards the sea, then, slowly, we begin to descend towards the coast, while, luckily for us, a magnificent sun continues to shine. We pass through a few scattered villages and arrive at the beautiful Chamarel waterfalls, which plunge from over ninety metres in height into a basin of tropical vegetation and are set in a highly spectacular scenic context, where the plateau seems, suddenly, to end, granting the stream no other solution than that of the great leap.

We observe the spectacle from a belvedere positioned right in front of it and reachable, on foot, in a few minutes, then we return to the car and continue along a rugged road to the next natural wonder. We cover a few kilometres and stop in a car park from which, walking, we reach the incredible Terres des Couleurs (the coloured earths). The spectacle is astonishing: erosion has created in the ground a series of humps, dozens of little hills of bare volcanic earth which, due to the presence of mineral oxides, take on a whole range of colourings from red to greenish, from violet to ochre. A true scientific explanation for this geological phenomenon does not exist, and it almost seems as though a bizarre painter wanted to use his palette on terrain with a vaguely lunar appearance.

The surrounding hills, covered in the greenest vegetation, and the intense blue of the sky, complete the magnificent scenery, and in order to better observe the place a wooden lookout tower has also been built, which, naturally, we climb, then we conclude the visit by following, on foot, the fence that practically marks the boundaries within which those strange and fanciful dunes are enclosed. It is already well past midday when we stop along the road, under a tree: we spread the towels on the grass and enjoy an unusual bucolic lunch, then, duly refreshed, we resume the descent towards the coast. After hundreds of bends and thousands of potholes we finally arrive at the sea near the village of Baie du Cap, at the extreme south of the island, and from here we start following the coastal road in a counterclockwise direction.

We stop, a little further on, at a beautiful stretch of coast near Pointe aux Roches and settle in the shade of the filao trees, on a semi-deserted beach, dazzlingly white and lapped by a fabulous sea. What a shame about the time, which has flown by, so now we have no more than two hours left to spend on the spot. We have a lovely swim in the water and the sun, in the company solely of a few Mauritians: this is not a particularly tourist-trodden area and our presence makes the locals curious, so much so that, at a certain point, a dark-skinned gentleman approaches us and introduces himself; he speaks only Creole but we manage to understand that he would like to make friends. We show ourselves willing and so he calls his sister, who speaks English, then the rest of the family: he wants them all around him and introduces them to us one by one.

We communicate in monosyllables and we cannot understand all the degrees of kinship, but in the end we say goodbye with a smile and leave them a pen as a souvenir: a small thing, but that was enough to put them in difficulty, since now they don't know how to reciprocate. They talk among themselves for a bit and then they come over with a baking dish containing a rice-based dish that they intend to offer us. At first we refuse, but they are insistent, so we indulge them and taste it... it is extremely spicy! With our mouths "on fire" and our eyes still watering, we say goodbye to them once again: they explain to us where they live and tell us to come and visit them if we ever pass through the area again, and, to finish, they give Federico a packet of crisps. It was truly a lovely experience, but it isn't far off dusk and it has definitely become time to head back.

There's a lot of road to cover and so we arrive at the Emeraude at 18:30, as usual in the company of almost total darkness. We wake Federico, who had fallen asleep along the way, and go up to the room. The after-dinner is lightened by the piano bar and the new Italian company, while a message from grandpa arrives on the mobile: Schumacher, with his Ferrari, is in pole position in the grand prix that will be run tomorrow... and Roberto's story about Jean Todt loses every kind of credibility.

The sky promises nothing good and big grey clouds laden with rain are massing, here and there, on the horizon. We therefore decide to change the sightseeing programme, which had involved spending the whole day at sea. We proceed along the road leading towards the south of the island and, given the weather, we stop near Curepipe, where there are some large stores selling designer clothing, of which Mauritius is an excellent producer, but it is also a public holiday and we find everything closed. We then continue towards the south, under a violent downpour, and we approach the coast, but we don't reach the sea and we stop a few kilometres earlier at Riviere des Anguilles, where La Vanille park is located. In the meantime it also stops raining and so we prepare to visit it. We pass through the entrance gate and find ourselves inside a zoo, whose predominant theme is that of reptiles.

By now our aversion to observing animals in captivity is well established, but we could not deny Federico the excitement of being able to see, in complete safety, large numbers of crocodiles, heaped one upon another, of every shape and size, coming mostly from Madagascar, but also from other parts of the world. There is no shortage of chameleons, iguanas and giant frogs, but also monkeys and bats (albeit off-topic), all immersed in luxuriant tropical vegetation, so thick that it doesn't let through even the drops of a brief and sudden shower.

The most beautiful part of the park, however, is the section dedicated to the giant tortoises which, undisturbed, wander in a state of semi-freedom within a large stone enclosure, inside which one can walk about freely, thus experiencing the thrill of being in close contact with the great and long-lived animals, which can reach two hundred and fifty years of life! The only shame is that the little one, far too timid, did not want to climb on the back of one of those enormous shells to be immortalised in a memorable souvenir photo. We finish the visit to La Vanille Park while the sun begins, timidly, to pierce that hateful blanket of clouds, which then, little by little, dissolves almost completely. We move even further south and, in the town of Souillac, now close to the coast, we begin to follow some sparse signs that should lead us to Rochester Falls.

We travel along a rough dirt road and then we make our way among the sugar cane plantations, inside that network of rural cart tracks that border and separate the fields, we turn at a crossroads and then at another, identical to the first, and at yet another, trying to memorise the route, and we arrive at a fork where some Mauritians, sitting in the shade, seem to be waiting for our arrival. They make us understand to park the car, then one of them tells us to follow him... and so we do. Our new guide walks ahead of us and accompanies us to see the waterfalls, which are only eight metres high, but have a strong flow of water and are immersed in a beautiful landscape, characterised by luxuriant vegetation.

We observe the drop first from the upper balcony, with two boys, in front of us, on the opposite side, performing a brave dive followed by an inevitable request for money, then we descend to the base along a muddy path on which Federico slips, inevitably getting dirty with earth. We wash his legs in the waters of the stream, take a photo with the waterfalls behind us and head back towards the car. It is incredibly hot, given the great humidity caused by the evaporation of the rain that fell in the morning, and we conclude the short excursion bathed in sweat; we leave the tip, which the guide does not want to share with his companions, consequently sparking a small squabble, then, without making a mistake, we retrace the road among the canes and return to Souillac.

A little further south of the village we go to see the ocean waves breaking on the coral reef from a viewpoint called Gris Gris, then we begin to climb back up the east coast to reach the inlet of Blue Bay. It is getting rather late, we take the wrong road and lose a good half hour, so Sabrina gets a little irritated and when we finally arrive at the beach the minute hand has already gone round at least a couple more times compared with the normal lunchtime. The place isn't bad, even though it is packed with Mauritians enjoying their Sunday, but the sun stays behind the clouds almost the whole time and helps make the outcome of the day not exactly positive. (A message arrives on the mobile phone: the day was more positive for Schumacher, who won the Spanish grand prix).

Yet another necklace seller also stops, and offers us one of red coral for a thousand rupees, we offer him two hundred... he says he is scandalised and leaves. A little later he returns, accepts our offer and we make the deal... but will it be a deal? Shortly before 17:00 we tidy up our backpacks and return to the Emeraude. The evening passes quietly, in the company of the only two Italians staying at the hotel besides us, whose names, moreover, we still don't know, then we go to bed hoping that tomorrow will, once again, be a splendid sunny day.

It is the last full day we will spend in Mauritius and for this reason we want to be sure to spend it in the best possible way, mindful of what happened on the previous one. Above us the sky is blue and the sun is shining, while towards the centre and the south of the island, statistically rainier, big clouds are still massing, and that was exactly the direction we were supposed to go. So we once again revolutionise our plans, and after breakfast we cover the short stretch of road separating us from Trou d'Eau Douce, take the ribbon of asphalt leading to the Tousserok hotel and arrive, already at 9:30, at the jetty for Île aux Cerfs. Half an hour later we disembark, for the second time, on what is, without a shadow of a doubt, the most beautiful beach in Mauritius. It is low tide and we walk along the eastern side of the islet, in search of a spot to settle.

We stop in the shade of the filao trees, with the immensity of the sea dominated by the beauty of its incredible colours before our eyes, in the most absolute peace... it is divine! There remains some regret for what we could not and did not want to visit today, but we all needed a day like the one we are having. The seawater in front of us is very warm and shallow, no higher than the knee, so we have unforgettable swims and long walks, always with our sandals on, given the presence of many sea urchins: everything is far too beautiful (the only shame being some intestinal trouble of mine). Time flies and in an instant it is midday: we have lunch and then continue to enjoy the spectacle.

In the mid-afternoon we move to the innermost part of the lagoon and therefore to the more crowded one, given its proximity to the boat moorings, but in that stretch of sea there are no sea urchins, and so we have one last, wonderful swim at Île aux Cerfs, then, little by little, the beach empties and we too head towards that boat which, in a few minutes, takes us back near the car park where our car is waiting, with which we return to the Emeraude, while the sun has not yet set. We settle the bill and return the rental car (all in order), then we go up to the room to sort out the suitcases for the departure to the island of Rodrigues which, according to a message delivered to us at reception, will take place tomorrow morning at 8:40. Later we have dinner and then spend the last evening in the company of Paola and Veronica: that's their names and we found out at the last minute, but...

better late than never!

The alarm going off at 7:00 in the morning kicks off operation Rodrigues. We promptly get out of bed and finish the suitcases, then we witness, unfortunately, an obligatory stop in the bathroom: Sabrina is also suffering from some intestinal trouble and the only one missing from the roll call is Federico who, in any case, for another reason, is already on antibiotics, and so we hope he will be spared. We go for breakfast and then return to the room to pick up the luggage, go downstairs, say goodbye to the Italian girls and immediately afterwards, right on time, the Mauritour minibus arrives to take us to the airport.

The driver, strangely, instead of following the coastal road, as on arrival, goes through the centre of the island, and several cars decked with flags are heading in the same direction: their destination is probably Curepipe where, on the occasion of May Day, a demonstration will be held. We, on the other hand, pass the town and continue southwards. A little over an hour after departure we arrive at Mauritius international airport, near Mahébourg, say goodbye to our escort, go in and, straight away, look for the desk at which to check in the luggage, while on the video screens flight Mk 130 at 11:55 seems to be perfectly on time. The wait at gate number one is short and, only a few minutes after the scheduled time, the Air Mauritius ATR 42 lifts off, banking immediately towards the east-northeast.

We fly over the Indian Ocean and, after about seventy minutes, we sight the island of Rodrigues, the second largest in the state (15 kilometres long by 7 wide): a fragment of volcanic land surrounded by coral reef, on which no more than thirty-eight thousand souls live. At 13:20 we land on the runway of the tiny Plain Coral airport: we tackle the aircraft steps and head towards baggage reclaim. The arrivals hall measures about as much as, or little more than, a living room, and the conveyor belt works by pushing the suitcases along by hand, while the entire airport building is no bigger than a single-family house. We collect the luggage and climb aboard the minibus that will take us to the Cotton Bay Hotel, on the other side of the island, where we will stay for four nights.

Along the way, in the company of some foreign tourists, we observe the landscape of Rodrigues, which is profoundly different from that of Mauritius: much more rugged and mountainous (the airport, at first glance, seems to be the only flat piece of land) but, above all, completely devoid of sugar cane and green in any case, with several cows grazing, which are extremely thin despite the abundance that surrounds them. We cross the whole central part of the island and, after about half an hour, we reach the sea, the Cotton Bay Hotel, which, at first sight, makes a good impression on us. We are welcomed with music and the traditional cocktail, then they hand us the keys to room number 304, which we immediately go to: it is very spacious and well made, but without a television, as, for that matter, was the previous one.

We wait for the luggage to arrive, put on our swimsuits and return to the open air, reach the new pool and settle in with the sun loungers along its edges. Time is short: we will stay only three full days in Rodrigues, so I immediately go to book a few excursions, while Federico cannot resist the temptation to get into the pool, so, on returning from my brief conversation, I join him and get into the water too. We have moved several kilometres further east, keeping the same time zone, and for this reason, at 16:30, the sun is already low on the horizon. We then decide to take a walk along the coast collecting shells: the inlet and the beach are beautiful, the sea a little less so. We spend some lovely moments, with the sun setting and setting the sky ablaze in front of us, and at 17:30, with almost total darkness, we return to the room to wait for dinner time.

The intestinal troubles seem almost completely gone and we sit down at the table shortly after 19:30: we eat divinely and notice an Italian couple, but we don't manage to get to know them. There is no mobile phone signal, so we go to the room to call home; we do it through reception and grandma Anna gets quite a fright when she hears English being spoken, but she calms down right after with Sabrina's voice. On our return, however, the two potential candidates for a chat have disappeared and we are left alone to enjoy the rest of the evening.

We get out of bed and go for breakfast, and so we meet the excursion staff and ask for information about the two we have booked, since one was in doubt. We gather that both are confirmed and, more relieved than before, we prepare to spend the rest of the day in complete serenity. We head along the coast southwards and, after twenty minutes of walking among the rocks and vegetation, we arrive at the beautiful Anse Ally. We settle on the white sand beach, with the magnificent colours of the sea in front of us, in our own company: if it weren't for a small fishing boat, beached on the sand, and a few shacks in the distance, among the hills, it would seem as though we were on an uninhabited island.

Amid Federico's enthusiasm we put up the beach tent, which we hadn't used yet, to have a bit of shade, since we will be staying at Anse Ally all day, then we have a refreshing swim in the warm waters of the lagoon. I do a reconnaissance lap with mask and fins but there are no fish, only sea urchins and in industrial quantities. Every now and then, behind us, some local goes by on foot. They are all very friendly: they greet us warmly and smile. We have lunch drawing on our last reserves, open a coconut and thus we all feel like little Robinson Crusoes, then we lie down, in the sun, in absolute peace, with only the sound of the wind whistling in our ears: the relaxation is total and the feeling truly pleasant.

We take down the tent and right afterwards Federico has a nap, so we stay at Anse Ally until 16:00, then we return to the hotel along a path more inland than the coast, saving a good stretch of road. Once we get to the Cotton Bay we indulge the little one, who wanted to have a nice swim in the pool, while we settle on the edges to enjoy the last rays of sun. We wait for the sunset and crown the outcome of a most pleasant day. We go to the room to get ready for the 19:30 cocktail, offered by the hotel to newcomers, then, after dinner, we look for the two Italians, but they are no longer there... they must have left. So we quietly sit down to look at the stars, then we take refuge in the bar, where a small Sega show is staged: thus we manage to while away the time and spend the evening decently.

The first of the two scheduled excursions within the lagoon of Rodrigues awaits us, so, bright and early, we leave the room and go for breakfast, while the most classic of tropical downpours falls from the sky... shortly afterwards the sun is shining, but there are many clouds in the sky today and we will hardly manage to avoid them all. A few minutes after 9:00 we leave the hotel aboard a minibus and head back up the road leading towards the centre of the island. We stop in a few villages to stock up on the food we will eat at lunch and meanwhile we pick up the various members of the organisational staff, which in the end turns out to be particularly numerous in relation to the number of participants in the excursion, so much so that we end up wondering how it is possible to find a fair economic return in the whole operation.

We descend towards the southern coast among green meadows and grazing cows, with beautiful views over the lagoon bounded by the coral reef: it feels as though we are in... "tropical Switzerland". We reach the sea and follow the road that runs alongside it westwards to arrive, around 10:00, near a stretch of rocky coast in whose crevices a few motor boats are moored. We climb aboard one of these and set sail, tackling a sea that is choppy, even though it lies within the coral reef, and the spray, time and again, soaks us as we arrive at Île aux Chats: an uninhabited islet, washed by crystal-clear waters. A magnificent sun is also shining when we disembark onto a little beach, while the small vessel probably heads off to wait for us on the other side of the island.

We walk along a short stretch of coast bordered by the extraordinary colours of the sea that frame a wild and pure place, certainly not yet touched by mass tourism. We find a starfish and give it to Federico, who holds it in his hand and looks at it curiously, then, naturally, we put it back in the water and continue our walk. We cross the island, among mimosas and wild cotton plants, and reach another beach where, in the meantime, the boat has also arrived: the fire is already lit and lunch is cooking on the grill. While we wait we settle at the water's edge: Sabrina sunbathes, Federico plays, I put on my snorkelling gear and get into the water, but there is not a single fish to be seen.

I go back to the beach and tell the guide, who reassures me instead: later he will take me "The fischerman" (the fish man) to the right spot! For the moment I content myself with seeing the ones nicely browned and laid out on my plate, part of the good lunch that is offered to us. In the early afternoon we return to the water's edge even though, unfortunately, some clouds, increasingly intrusive, have come between us and the sun. We are joined by a family from Sydney, whose two children play with Federico the whole time, while I go with "The fischer-man" to see the fish and the father of the two Australian children comes with us too and, given the situation, asks me if I know the Fiji Islands (yes, they were in the Pacific Ocean and therefore relatively close to his home): "They're good for smorkeling!" he tells me... "They're far away," I reply, though...

who knows: maybe one day, on the other hand, they'll be within our reach! Meanwhile the fish man, who speaks only Creole, gestures to us to follow him: he knew exactly where to take us and we are not disappointed, so we see, among other things, several moray eels, some strange invertebrates and a beautiful lobster, then, satisfied, we return to the beach. The sun continues to be elusive while I take the little one for a swim before it becomes time to leave the island. At around 15:00 we set sail, heading for the stretch of coast from which we had departed, with the rocky outline of the nearby Île Ermitage on the right and the sun, mischievously, peeking out from among the clouds only to emerge, shortly afterwards, imperiously into the open.

We moor and go back aboard the minibus that will take us back to the hotel: we follow the usual road that passes through the centre of the island and drop off the various members of the staff at their homes, while Federico has a providential nap. We arrive at Cotton Bay shortly after 16:00 and, thinking about it, we could have stayed at least another hour at Île aux Chats; besides, they are changing the water in the pool and we are not allowed to swim. We treat ourselves, then, to a good crêpe and a beer, then we settle on the sun loungers to wait for the sunset. When it is already dark we return to the room and, later, after another excellent dinner, we watch a little sketch show, unfortunately all performed in French, but likeable nonetheless.

We still have one whole day left to spend in Rodrigues and the alarm goes off at 7:00, since, at 8:30, the departure for another boat excursion in the lagoon awaits us, the last one of course. We meet, together with the other participants, in the reception hall and we are decidedly greater in number than yesterday. The Australians keep us company again, but we soon lose sight of them: one minibus is not enough to carry everyone, so we end up on the first one and they on the second. We set off and follow, once again, the road that climbs up towards the centre of the island, only to descend again, in hairpin bends, practically in the direction of the opposite side. We reach the sea near the capital Port Mathurin, a quiet little town inhabited by no more than a few thousand people, and we continue along the coast towards the westernmost part of the island.

At a certain point we turn right and take a dirt road that ends near a beach, on which a few boats are moored. We climb aboard one of these and set off: in the distance we glimpse the flat outlines of Île aux Sables and Île aux Cocos. We are heading for the latter, but the boat is extremely slow and the island seems to move in the same direction as us, never appearing any closer, so it takes us almost an hour to reach it. When we finally disembark at Île aux Cocos the hands of the clock are by now close to midday and, immediately, we are taken on a short guided tour of the islet which, washed by a fantastic sea, is part of a nature and ornithological oasis.

The small strip of land, half of which is also inaccessible and classified as a strict nature reserve, is monopolised, in practice, by a large colony of birds which, perched here and there, allow themselves to be approached relatively closely, accustomed as they are to the presence of tourists. At the end of the visit we treat ourselves to a refreshing swim, then we have lunch and return to the beach, but not for long. Almost immediately they tell us to get back aboard the boats to reach the nearby Île aux Sables, or so at least we think we understand, but evidently we do not interpret the words correctly and we are taken to the middle of the lagoon, where the sea is not even particularly beautiful.

They invite us to get into the water for a swim: I go, along with a few others, but it was more of a forced move than an enjoyable one, then I return aboard the small vessel which, shortly afterwards, sets a course for the beach from which we had departed. After more than an hour of sailing we arrive at the embarkation point, transfer to the minibus, retrace the whole road that passes through the centre of the island and, already at 15:30, we arrive at Cotton Bay!... It's incredible!...

We spent all the best hours of the day on the road and the excursion was a bit of a disappointment, certainly not because of the beauty of the places, but because of its duration! We settle around the pool to spend the rest of the day and wait for the sunset, so I go to pay for the excursions and take the opportunity to express my complaints in some way, then we go to the room and start packing the suitcases, given the imminent departure. After dinner we watch a show of traditional Rodriguan music and dances, staged by a small local folklore group made up of a few dancers and a characteristic band, whose members, with particularly expressive features, are the very picture of friendliness. At the end of the show we return to the room and try to fall asleep, since tomorrow night, on the plane, we will certainly be less comfortable.

The holiday is drawing to a close and the suitcases are almost ready, but we still have a bit of time to spend at the pool, considering that departure is scheduled for midday. What a shame that it isn't a splendid day; in fact there are far more grey clouds than patches of blue sky, and the sea is rough even inside the coral reef. The important thing, however, is that it doesn't rain, since it certainly isn't cold, and so we spend a pleasant morning until Federico decides to give us the last, unwanted, surprise: while he is in the pool he starts saying his ear hurts!... again!... and we have no antibiotics left! I settle the hotel bill and we go to the room to give him some painkiller, which takes effect immediately: we just hope it lasts him until we get home.

We eat something, have a quick shower and close the suitcases, take one last souvenir photo of the Cotton Bay and, in the end, there is a knock at the door to collect the luggage. It is midday: we go to reception and shortly afterwards we climb aboard the coach that will take us to the airport, an entire coach at our disposal. We cross the whole island and, from up high, we enjoy the views of the greenest hills standing out against the blue of the sea bounded by the coral reef, with the colours standing out thanks to the sun which has, once again, come out shining.

We arrive at the tiny Plain Coral airport in Rodrigues, check in the luggage and wait for the plane, which lands shortly afterwards, so, right on time, we board flight Mk 131 and at 14:10 the ATR 42 takes off bound for Mauritius: below us a sea of clouds, which thins only more than an hour later, when we land, right on schedule, at 15:30. We collect the luggage, go out through the arrivals door, pushing the trolley, and go straight back in through the departures one, looking for the luggage check-in. We find the desk, but they make us understand that it is still too early because there are still four hours to go before departure. We explain to them that we have just arrived from Rodrigues and that we would gladly have done without waiting so long, so they accept the luggage, which already departs bound for Bologna (let's hope we see it arrive together with us).

We pass through customs, they stamp our exit and are amazed, once again, at the time: we shrug and try, once again, to explain the reason, then we settle on the little armchairs in the waiting area, call home and have a small snack. So many hours of waiting are really hard to get through and luckily Federico's ear seems less serious than expected... barring relapses. In the end, however, 20:00 strikes and we queue at gate number one (the same as in Rodrigues) to board flight Af 3865. We get on the plane, again the gigantic Boeing 747. We are in row ten, almost at the nose, and the passengers never stop boarding, the minutes pass and I start to fret about the delay, given the very tight connection, in Paris, for Bologna.

We move off almost half an hour late and it is 21:10 when we are at the end of the runway, while along the road, outside the airport, some cars have stopped to watch the departure of the great aircraft... then the roar, the impressive acceleration and the take-off. We fly over Mauritius and shortly afterwards we have dinner, but Federico succumbs to sleep even before doing so. Below us only clouds can be seen... we close our eyes and join the little one in the world of dreams.

Midnight certainly strikes over the African continent, both the midnight of Mauritius and the Italian one, two hours apart from each other. It is 4:20 and, by now tuned to the second time zone, we are flying over the Mediterranean Sea, while below us two islands can be seen separated by a narrow arm of sea, and a smaller one in the middle... well, look who's here: they are Malta, Gozo and Comino. Later we fly over Trapani and Sicily, then Sardinia and then lots of clouds, with the sun rising on the horizon. We are slightly late and when we arrive above Paris the plane, as if on purpose, makes an incredible lap and makes us lose more time, then, finally, at 6:45, we land. The plane for Bologna leaves at 7:20 from zone "F" and we are in zone "A".

We fidget while we watch the business class passengers disembark first, then, with backpacks and Federico on our shoulders, we begin our race inside the Paris airport: we go up and down escalators, catch a shuttle on the fly, check passports and hand luggage, then we launch into the final sprint and at 7:10, a little hot and flustered, we arrive at the boarding gate... we made it!... and we hope the suitcases were no less so. Naturally, then, the plane leaves late and the boarding tunnel detaches at 7:35, after other people, besides us, have arrived. Flight Af 1228, a Boeing 737, the last of the six planes we had to take, taxis towards the runway and takes off a handful of minutes before 8:00.

We climb immediately above a thick blanket of clouds and land is seen again only when the snow-covered Italian side of the Alps appears and a little later here is the unmistakable branched outline of Lake Como, then we begin to descend towards Bologna's Marconi airport, where we land at 9:10. With some relief we see the suitcases arriving on the conveyor belt, we collect them and head towards the arrivals hall, where we find the grandparents waiting for us. Kisses and hugs are obligatory, then we leave the airport, load the luggage into the camper and set off in the direction of Forlì.

Federico is a river in flood, he talks non-stop, and along the way we recount all the adventures, then we express our opinions and our thoughts on the beautiful trip now nearing its conclusion: Mauritius and Rodrigues are certainly two tropical paradises, but you have to get around to discover their beauties; perhaps we spent a little too long in the car travelling their roads, but it was necessary to do so and one more day would have made the visit less frantic, but we weren't granted it and in the end we missed it. We are happy: the holiday went well and, otitis aside, we return home with beautiful memories. We still have the green hills and the blue expanses of the sea in our eyes, but we are soon brought back to reality and we pass the Villanova road sign... a few minutes later, at 10:33, we are, once again, home.