Island Life: The Truth About Mauritius
Coconut alley
Sometimes, I don’t write about island life—rather, I write about how I’m transformed by living on an island.
Coming from the West—what some often call the First World—I try to be discerning about how I interpret what I see and feel, the opinions and judgments I form, and the vast discrepancy between life in the U.S. and U.K. versus living on a tiny rock in the Indian Ocean. I’m miles away from Amazon Prime and Uber Eats, vast freeways and Target, segregated poverty, and weekend living. Sometimes, I filter what I say because of how much gratitude I have for this experience.. And sometimes, it’s incredibly difficult—especially when you don’t speak the native French or Creole languages. I often wonder if it’s a marketing strategy to say English is the primary language here… it’s not.
As a non-native speaker—and white—I consciously try to show respect for the island whilst not making my individual experience less important and significant. This is not my country. I am a foreigner—even if I have distant relatives on the island. I am a guest on foreign land.
The data isn’t conclusive about how many Americans reside in Mauritius, but it’s likely in the hundreds, out of a total population of around 1.3 million. That fact alone makes the foreignness more palpable. On my British side, there are said to be around 40,000 Brits here… again, a small fraction. And truthfully, I’m far more American than English. I’ve been pausing to honor my individual experience and respect the layers of foreignness I carry. I don’t share any of this with regret or dislike—just to name what’s true.
For example: there are ordinary, everyday tasks that, in my experience, men seem more easily able to navigate here. Sometimes, when I speak to a man, he looks through me, past me, or doesn’t look at me at all. Honestly, this isn’t unlike some interactions I’ve had with British men. I’m not a victim—but I am influenced by the experience. This, too, is one of the challenges of island life. Adaptability is a requirement here.
It’s not the strongest, fastest, or biggest who thrive—it’s the most adaptable.
So why stay, when the contrast can be so vast, and things can feel incrementally harder, especially before you learn the island’s rhythm?
Because I still believe and trust this is the best place for me—for us—to be. A recent experience reaffirmed that.
The main port, Port Louis, is a bustling hive of activity. Everything happens there: banking, immigration, business, legal matters. I’ve probably been there 15 times in 24 months. I used to loathe it—for the reasons above. But recently, I’ve had three lovely experiences there and I have enjoyed stepping into the role of observer. My partner and I have learned the hard way that we must take on different roles, depending on the situation. Yin and yang. I watched how hard people work there. Just like everywhere else in the world, people are trying to make do, build something, close something down, create balance. They’re finding the best gateaux piment, filling their bellies, closing the day.
One recent visit became a full-circle moment.
On a visit to the island in 2017, when my partner’s uncle was still alive, he walked me to a man down an alley selling fresh coconut water. He stood beside a mountain of coconuts, machete in one hand, and a tree stump as his workbench. If you wanted to-go coconut water, he had plastic bottles ready for 10 cents. It was grounding—one of those moments that makes life feel whole and human.
The other day, as we walked past a little food stall, I realized it was the same coconut alley from eight years ago. I showed the man there a photo I’d taken in 2017. We were both so happy. A flood of memories rushed into my body, thinking about everything that had happened between then and now. We built rapport. Shared laughs and walked away with two giant coconuts, a bag of fresh coconut meat, and some pineapple slices. I also got a tip on where to find the best gateaux piment and samosas—I love the Mauritian snacks!
It was a beautiful loop closed. A karmic cycle, perhaps, ending. I didn’t realize how much I needed that.
That trip to the port was filled with ease, gratitude, and island rhythm. A reminder that, with time, things soften—if we pause and let them.
Truthfully, when I first moved here, trips to the port were frustrating. Sweaty. Even a bit traumatizing learning the system. It was a huge culture shock. I now see it was directing me inward.
I’ve started seeing the port not as a chore, but as an experience. I go into “explorer mode.” A “let’s see what today brings” kind of energy. It’s the best way to step outside here—because when you do, you never know what you’ll meet: a sick dog, a neighbor you’d rather not see, poverty, litter, or unexpected beauty. It’s not for the faint of heart. Resilience, adaptability, and solitude are essential to wellness here. Then again, maybe they’re essential anywhere.
I feel alive here. I see real life—raw life—the rich and the poor, the hardship and the beauty. I see the sea, the mountains, the faces of tourists in awe of this place. It’s less constricted here (for me). It’s a melting pot—of people, stories, things. Highs and lows. Injustices and peace. Boundaries and boundlessness. I change my mind often. I love that—so this, too, may change. But for now, this is how I feel.
This move—this choice—has been one of the most challenging, uncertain, and eye-opening experiences of my life. And I miss those who have left. And that’s why I came. That’s why I stayed. To feel. To witness. To learn. To let go. To be a foreigner in a foreign land.
I’ve also relearned who I am.
I no longer compromise on certain things—especially when it comes to people. I trust less. I believe less in what people say, and more in what their energy tells me. Words are not that important anymore. But your energy is everything. I know now.
So even if I took nothing else from this island experience…It brought me back home. To myself. And couldn’t that be the point of it all? To see the best (and the worst) in our fellow human—and to learn more about who we are along the way?
To be continued…
Thank you so much for reading my honest stories! If you enjoyed this post, you can upgrade, buy me a coffee, or simply share it with a friend. Your support is hugely appreciated. Adrienne
