Mahébourg to Flic-en-Flac, Mauritius

You know how in Canada, we have bilingual packaging? For us anglophones, we call it “cereal box French” or “shampoo French” – that’s basically our only exposure to the language on a day to day basis, and probably the extent of our knowledge for those of us long gone from high school. We really could do better.

Now look at Mauritius — or in French, Maurice. The official language is English and most can get by, but far more people speak French and tend to lead interactions with it, though everyone speaks Creole amongst themselves. Signs are in one to three languages, sometimes but often not translated, even in museums. Restaurant menus are haphazardly written in a mix. Towns often have names in both English and French. People comfortably switch between languages mid-sentence with no acknowledgement. There’s no identity crisis, no linguistic politics. The national currency even has amounts written in Tamil and Hindi, neither of which have official status. Students learn English, French, Hindi, and Mandarin in school!

There are other, far more obvious reasons that people come to Mauritius. But for me, as a language enthusiast, it’s jealousy that brought me here.
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Salazie to Cilaos, Réunion

There’s one word that initially comes to mind for all of…this: why?

Why does this place exist? Why is this actually France? Why are all the roads so twisty? Why do people live so isolated?

Also, why did I choose to rent a car and have my first drive in three years be one after a marathon overnight flight to Paris, a 9 hour airport change carrying all my things in the city centre, a second overnight flight to La Réunion, and a couple hours up an incredibly twisty and narrow mountain road all the while trying to function entirely in French? Hey, at least I’m still here to tell the tale.
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