Mauritius Part 3: Going out in Grand Baie (The Beach House and The Banana Beach Club)

Eventually, when you’ve travelled away from home long enough, you’re going to want to settle in and do something a little bit familiar.  So why not a beer or two?

Being armed with the Routard for Mauritius (it’s the French Lonely Planet equivalent), I had all the various night spots marked on the map for the area I was staying in after the resort.  However, on my first night I decided to wing it a little and just walk down Royal Parade to see what was on offer.   My requirements were simple: beer and Internet.  Preferably beer.  Company optional.

The first place I stumbled across was The Beach House.  I only went in there because as I walked past there was a group of about 6 people in front of the bar.  The men were discussing their latest round of golf whilst drinking beer and with a distinctively Aussie accent.  There were their wives tending to the kids and sipping white wine.  They might have well been somewhere in an eastern suburbs bar in Sydney.  I suppose they were looking to for something similar too.

I walked past the gate and said hi to the kids who were trying to work out how to open the gate. I went to the bar, pulled up a bar stool, and ordered a beer.

“What beer do you have on tap?”

“Phoenix.”

“Anything else?”

“Phoenix.”

“OK, a pint of phoenix.” (Which was of course a stupid question to start with, because there’s only really one beer in Mauritius. And it’s Phoenix).

I pull out my notebook and pen so that I could note down the happenings for the day and then my iPhone.  Switching on the WiFi, I see a network called “TheBeachHouse”.  Sounds promising.  I get the key and I’m finally connected for the first time in … 24 hours. Which for a computer scientist, might well have been an eternity.  I post a couple of comments about beer and free Internet whilst sipping on my first pint.  It was cold, fresh, and not too bitter. Life was good again.

To my right were two German tourists.  They saw me play on my iPhone and they too asked for WiFi access. I suppose we were the three wise monkeys on our three stupid smartphones, sipping three cold pints of Phoenix.  Thinking about this now, it was all a little ridiculous.  Perhaps someone out there took a photo of us.

I pulled out my Routard, looking for the next bar.  I had a review of The Beach House in it, which was somewhat positive, but also a little bit amusing as they had something to say about the quality of their seafood (which based on perhaps one or two reviews, might be a little unfair).  So I had to show it to the staff.

They loved it: they were famous! They looked at the Routard and the review and started calling around the other staff and the manager to have a look.  They were all kind of impressed that they were reviewed.

After a couple of pints, I thought I might try my luck at another bar: why not – I’m within stumble home distance.  So I took the Routard’s recommendation for the Banana Beach Club.  Approaching this bar, ominously there was a whole armada of taxis outside.  This was certainly one huge tourist magnet.  There was some live music permeating from within so, why not, let’s have a look.  Only tonight, it was empty.

I ordered my first pint (a Phoenix) and had a look around.

The live music was a guy playing the guitar and singing with a backing percussionist.  There were other guys alone (like me at the bar, I suppose), just hanging around at a safe distance from the musicians just lazing around drinking beer.  Next to me were a rather rotund French guy and his girlfriend working through their cocktails and their conversation in English. 

The bar itself was huge, which of course accentuated the emptiness.  It was dark as the sun had already set and the overhanging lights punctuated the dark wooden bar with bright spots every couple of metres.  I was under one of those spots with my Routard planning for what to visit the next day.  The crowd was sparse and already winding down.

It was hardly a party atmosphere and with the people not really mingling with each other, it was actually kind of sad.  And that’s when I met Brian.

“Another beer?” He asked, calling out from behind the bar noticing my beer glass bottoming out.  You always know a bar is empty when the barmen are offering you drinks.  Normally, you struggle to get their attention.

“Of course…” I responded.  Chancing on opportunity, I leaned over the bar and asked, “If you had 3 days free in Mauritius what would YOU do?” I suppose I was hoping to get a couple of local tips, which so far from my scan in the Routard were not really that evident.

We ended up talking for about an hour in between him serving drinks to others and he had a couple of tips as to his favourite beaches, what to see, where to go, what he did in Mauritius; but more importantly and finally, where to party.

“So, where’s good to party?” I ask.

“What kind of question is that?” He looked at me as if I was mad, stupid, or both.  “This place is the best, for sure!” He shot this reply back with real certainty.

I point out into the punters, which were still sparse at about 22h30.  I wasn’t mad, or stupid, or both.

“Oh, come on, man. It’s empty. EMPTY!”

Brian took a step back and considered the situation.  The bar certainly was rather empty and with the musicians packing up, it didn’t really look like it was THE place to be.

“Come back Friday.  It’s always good Friday. Locals, foreigners, they’ll all be here.  The club out back always pulls in people.  And I’ll be here working.  And you’ll see how we party.”

So I came back Friday. And Brian? Well, he was working that night, and by golly: he was right.