Port Louis

Port-Louis works its old harbor under a wall of theatrical mountains — Le Pouce raising its granite thumb, Pieter Both balancing a boulder on its head — and keeps, block by block, the braid that is Mauritius: a Chinatown, a Jummah mosque, Tamil temples, a French-built theater and a Creole market all within one walk. At the waterfront stands the Aapravasi Ghat, the UNESCO-inscribed immigration depot where nearly half a million indentured workers first touched the island; this Guide holds their steps in dignity — modern Mauritius climbed them.

The traveller gives the morning to the Central Market — dholl puri from the masters, pineapple with chili-salt, vegetables arranged like heraldry —; walks Chinatown and the citadel view; salutes the Champ de Mars, the southern hemisphere's oldest racecourse, running since 1812; meets the dodo in the Natural History Museum, the gentle giant pigeon the island has spent three centuries apologizing to; and ends with sega at sunset — the ravanne drum, the swaying feet — which is the island's heartbeat wearing music.

The Guide's practical counsel: the capital works by day and quiets by night, when the coasts take over — most travellers day-trip in from the beaches, and the buses and new light rail make it painless —; November to April is warm and beautiful with a cyclone season the forecasts flag honestly; street food is the island's parliament, and eating across it — dholl puri, boulettes, gateaux piments — is both cheap and statesmanlike; and the mountains behind town hike quicker than they look, Le Pouce by lunch.