A holiday should be just that – guilt-free freedom from ticking those boxes while you tickle your own fancy. Fiona Galea Debono knows Mauritius is living up to her expectations when she not only lets her hair down, but even wets it in the sea…

You start to form impressions of a destination, especially if you haven’t done your homework, from waiting in the airport departure lounge. Your thirst for any information about that remote island in the Indian Ocean has you observing – scrutinising even – the passengers about to board the Emirates flight from Dubai to Mauritius because, when you’re green, a country can even be judged by its visitors.

Shark documentaries fail to cross my normally masochistic mind as I cross to the other side of the protective reef and ride the waves of the open ocean- Fiona Galea Debono

The clues are starting to join the dots: the enormous aircraft is bursting at the seams; you understand you are not alone in your attraction to the exotic island; and its popularity is proven in the interesting mix of travellers.

Whether they would be satisfied on their return is another story, but planeloads are continuously pouring into the island. So far, so good…

Considering the queues it welcomes are endless, Plaisance Airport is not as modern as you would expect the gateway to an island that lives off tourism to be. But that is yet another piece of the jigsaw puzzle that is slowly taking shape: the Mecca has not gone mainstream. Plus, the warm welcome of its staff compensates for the tired-looking airport, and the health-related questions and instructions convey a sense of safety.

During the one-hour trip that cuts the island’s 1,860 square kilometres from the south-east to the north-west, the taxi driver continues to affirm the hospitality and sense of service Mauritius is renowned for. He is quick to explain that the population consists of 52 per cent Hindus, 27 per cent Catholics and 17 per cent Muslims – “living in total harmony”.

But, you later conclude, because of the hybrid of ethnic groups, religions, languages, cuisines, you could say Mauritius is neither here, nor there. It does not seem to have a strong culture that stands out, but is more a fusion of Indian, African and Chinese, with European touches.

The curious island is the sum of many parts. And these can best be savoured during a random multi-cultural football match on the sand, or in the pot-holed backstreets of its capital Port Louis, where Muslim prayers echo and overlap the scent of Hindu incense in the air, until you turn off into an avenue, lined with Western banks.

As you cut across the island and get a cross-sectional insight into its interiors, you can confirm your holiday is going to be based on the beach, and if your own summer has only just about ended, you welcome a one-week extension.

Although it appears green from the sky, the landscape in November is somewhat arid, and the driver points out that Mauritius has been “waiting for rain for a good three years”. But the peculiarly pointed mountains of the volcanic island distract you from any concerns of drought, and before you know it, you reach the water’s edge.

Once you hit the coast, you know how your holiday is going to pan out. And so begins a stretch of lazing on the beach and the bonding that can only result from resolute and undivided quality time.

So begins a week of deriving pleasure from the trivial things; from just watching someone improve his wakeboarding techniques. So begins a week of water sports, which, although you may have at your disposal back home, you never bother to try.

You unashamedly find yourself on a pedalo – and the joy of doing the embarrassing equivalent of a karrozin ride has its own appeal, simply because it’s not something you’d ever do. Even if the underwater world has never intrigued you, you find yourself snorkelling – and wetting your hair prematurely. And that freedom from the shackles of salon dependency is another sign that you are really in holiday mode.

I haven’t snorkelled since I was a child – and I’m not entirely sure I did back then either. I’m certain, however, that I’ve always preferred close encounters with fish if they are dead, cooked and served on my plate.

But true holidays can bring out your other side. Shark documentaries fail to cross my normally masochistic mind as I, literally, cross to the other side of the protective reef and ride the waves of the open ocean, floating on the surface of a sea swell to spot harmless yellow, turquoise and zebra-striped fish.

Yes, the Maltese may have the sea and the sun, but another ocean can almost be smelt and felt. And the distinction does not only lie in the whiteness of the gravel-like sand that crunches under your bare feet and stretches for kilometres. It lies also in the subtleties, and in the sounds.

You wouldn’t hear the crimson-coloured birds chirping outside your window as they settle on your fruit bowl, or the rustle of a warm wind in the palm trees. Neither would you stumble upon a coconut.

Sunsets may be a cliché, but you can’t help planning your whole day around the time it’s going to end on Mauritius’s west coast. At 6 p.m., the sky, a spectacle throughout the day, turns into a fireball as the sea changes to a mirror of pastel colours. Black rocks start to protrude from the tinge of cornflower blue and dusty pink of the sea as it gets sucked out by the tide.

In a ritual-like silence, husbands start clicking their cameras to capture their wives at the water’s edge, the healthy glow of their skin being the last trace of the sinking sun. Couples hold hands and cross each others’ paths as powerful nature gets everyone to react in the same way.

At 6 p.m., the sky, a spectacle throughout the day, turns into a fireball as the sea changes to a mirror of pastel colours- Fiona Galea Debono

It’s a week of early-morning walks along the coast, working those ankles in the sand, followed by an abundant breakfast, another snooze in the sun, an amateur yoga class on the lawn, a spot of reading in the shade, a cup of tea on your terrace.

The most important deliberation of the day is when to have a sauna. And on your to-do list, which you conscientiously draw up at the dawn of an idle day, is to inform the concierge where you plan to dine that evening.

Even if you wake up one morning to torrential rains, it’s simply what the island has been yearning for, and you take it in your stride, savouring the tropical climate that, after all, is part of the package.

You’re not even daunted by the fact that it could last three days, and the sun beds remain occupied by the guests, who persist on reading in the rain.

In fact, if you’ve been meaning to catch up on a pile of magazines you collect every Sunday, which, in turn, have only collected dust; if you plan to read your first book since your honeymoon (which was the first book you read since you graduated), you’re on the right track.

A holiday should be just that. It should be a chance to cut off and catch up – be it with your travel partner, or your pen and paper. It should be about guilt-free freedom to do what you want – even if it means staying put in your resort and limiting exploration to the stretch of beach beyond your bedroom.

Before you know it, your plans to go trekking, or pop into Porte Louis, dissipate. Yes, you could go to the nature parks, or the botanical gardens of Pamplemousses, Mauritius’s prime sites… or you can just visit nearby Grand Baie. After all, it is the fourth day and you haven’t yet budged from your comfort zone.

At least, get a bus for a more authentic taste of the local scene – although you won’t ever complain about Arriva on the rickety transport that drives at neck-breaking speed, meaning the landscape whizzes past you like a fast-forwarded film, with barely enough time to take in any of it. Unless the shutter speed of your eye is mega short, you’ll only end up with a blurred image of the colourful, colonial architecture, some sexy developments and the shacks, sandwiched in between.

But once you arrive and steady yourself on solid ground, you realise the town is built around a mesmerising, turquoise, horseshoe bay. Forget the shopping, which it is known for, unless you’re addicted – the choice is poor, close to home and far more expensive.

Instead of polo shirts, buy a coconut and sip its juice from a straw, or chew on mango, drenched in chilli sauce and swimming in a plastic bag. If you think your stomach is strong enough, take a bite out of a dubious dholl puri – and chuck the rest out of the sight of the old lady who sold it to you if you don’t want to appear too fragile. Then brace yourself again for the Grand Prix from Grand Baie to Pointes aux Pimentes.

Back to the slower pace on your beach, you can resume your people-watching exercise: observing the guests you’ve been around throughout the week and guessing at their life stories and the intricacies of their relationships.

It’s a busy life… and by the end of it, you may not even have fulfilled your vow not to lug back the batch of magazines you had packed.

Getting there

Emirates operates 11 weekly flights from Dubai to Mauritius. It flies daily from Malta to Dubai, with a short stopover in Larnaka, Cyprus.