Moonlight tossed shadows of palm trees across the vast expanse of sand. The tide had retreated, unhurried, over the long, languid afternoon.
Somewhere across the water, gentle lights flickered, outshone only by stars, and a wind began to pick up as we finished dinner on the shore.
As the patter of rain began, I heard a soft, familiar voice from across the table, woven with a hint of sadness: ‘It’s all gone a bit too fast, hasn’t it?’
I agreed, and felt an ache of leaving too soon. A week on the eastern coast of Mauritius, where wind-bent sugarcane and jagged green mountains give way to a coastline braided with volcanic black stone and clear lagoons, had slipped away like a coconut falling from the branches.
And the person next to me, sipping a glass of cremant, was my 80-year-old grandmother.
So, despite the accoutrement (flowers, candlelight, ‘mood’ music), this obviously wasn’t a romantic meal.
In fact, she’d impressed upon almost all those we encountered – waiters, housekeeping, other travellers – that I was her grandson, lest they think she was some eccentric widow flaunting a young piece on the side.
It had been years since we travelled together, and with a weight of guilt over not having spent enough ‘quality’ time with her recently, I invited her to fly 6,000 miles for an escape she would never have done by herself.
Ben and his grandmother, Rosemary, on their trip to Mauritius
Constance Prince Maurice stretches across 148 acres, with 89 rooms, suites and villas, plus a ‘floating’ restaurant
My relationship with my maternal grandmother – or Ro-ie, a nickname that has stuck since I was unable to correctly say her name, Rosemary, as a babbling toddler – isn’t a typical grandparent-grandchild set-up.
We’d always been close, but a turbulent adolescence saw me move in with her for a year. That became seven years, through school and sixth form then university holidays.
Her home in west Dorset was a sanctuary from a succession of disgusting, abusive men – my father, then a step-father. There were days when I fell to depths so low I wasn’t sure I’d ever claw my way back. But throughout it, she was there.
And I tried to support her. When we lost my magnificent aunt, her daughter, to the sea, I was 17; I think I must have made an unspoken promise to myself then to always look after her.
If there was anyone in my world who deserves to be whisked away to a tropical refuge, it’s my grandmother – and what a privilege for me to be able to do it for her, and with her.
Mauritius suited us: wild yet welcoming. Its beauty is in its contrasts, which unfurled as we drove an hour north-east from the airport. Like Hindu temples painted in shades of sherbet close to neon kiosks selling vapes, or groomed golf courses not far from tangled mangroves.
While Flic-en-Flac, on the western edge, can be crowded, and northern haunts such as Grand Baie are big on nightlife, we found a resort in the calmer Poste de Flacq. Constance Prince Maurice has been on this parcel of land since 1998. Its long-slung, thatched buildings in white are strewn across 148 acres, wrapped by a beach the colour of bleached ivory.
There was something quite odd about the role reversal as I caught my grandmother – who has never stayed anywhere like this – smile as she soaked up pin-sharp service on our arrival: the cooling towel, the iced tea, the bags being whisked away. As our family’s biggest people pleaser, I could tell it would take her some time to relax while being looked after by the staff.
Ben wanted to whisk his grandmother, pictured, away to a ‘tropical refuge’ – and Mauritius proved to be the perfect destination
Each day melted into a similar routine: slow breakfasts after sunrise of beautifully flaky pastries and tropical fruits, before a morning beside sea or pool
Despite being almost half-a-century younger, I felt like the parent, organising the check-in but keeping half an eye on Ro-ie as she walked over to the nearest pool, which appeared to stretch out to touch the sea.
Tired and hungry but finally here, we managed to sneak into the end of breakfast service, spending more time gazing across the glistening water while sipping Mauritian tea than chatting.
Neither of us slept on the overnight flight, so our accommodation being ready early was a much-needed bonus.
The spaces – there are 89 rooms, suites and villas across the property – skew towards the traditional. They’re heavy on dark hardwood and natural textures, and some have pitched rattan ceilings, but feel airy as light beams in through louvered shutters. Bathrooms have wonderfully deep tubs, and surfaces are marble.
That first day was a blur of snoozing under the sun, finding shade in which to read (and more often than not, nodding off), and a chance to idly chat without the usual interruptions of my toddler.
We ran down our first evening with the resort’s weekly seafood spread, our plates laden with tuna, lightly seared and with a sweet-savoury glaze, and fragrant curries of local fish, mopped up with farata flatbread.
Each day that followed melted into a similar routine. Slow breakfasts after sunrise of beautifully flaky pastries and tropical fruits, before a morning beside sea or pool.
Most afternoons, I would hire a stand-up paddleboard (non-motorised watersports equipment is included in a stay), and push myself back and forth along the calm waters. I flushed with a childlike pride when Ro-ie told me she was impressed after a rather fierce battle with the breeze to return to the sand.
More often than not, still full from our morning meal, we’d skip lunch, occasionally snacking on pineapple and tubs of ice cream delivered to sunloungers by staff.
Ben and Rosemary inside Prince Maurice’s wine cellar, home to more than 25,000 bottles
Much of a stay at Prince Maurice is focused on the pools, or the sea beyond
Life at home came only in the form of emails (notifications were, blissfully, usually switched off), and FaceTime conversations with my wife and two-year-old son. His favourite animal is now the dodo, after I bought him a cuddly toy version of the flightless bird which once roamed Mauritius – he’ll get an important lesson when I explain why he can’t find them at the zoo.
Food, as with any great travel, formed a large part of what we did – my grandmother the former chef, me the unabashed glutton.
There are three places to have dinner, but the showstopper was at Le Barachois, the ‘floating’ restaurant. At twilight, we wandered across the lagoon (past overwater villas) to reach a series of pontoons turned into intimate but open-air dining rooms.
A French-inflected Mauritian dinner, including delicate stuffed quail and braised lamb shank with hints of spices that added warmth and complexity, was accompanied by fish splashing in the water beside us, and the slight rocking of the floor as waiters navigated tables.
Wine pairings were excellent – Prince Maurice has more than 25,000 bottles in its cellar, and the resort’s head sommelier was recently named best in Mauritius. Other than my occasional visits to the gym, tempered by a soothing massage in the spa, this getaway focused on little more than the joy of doing nothing.
Though staff told me the resort was at high capacity, it barely felt busy. When it was busier – maybe queuing for a fresh crepe at breakfast – it felt convivial rather than crowded. The space you get is one of Prince Maurice’s greatest assets. Or, as my grandmother put it: ‘This definitely isn’t the place where you have to fight for a sunlounger.’
As the hours ticked by, I found myself staring at the swaying palms, their rustling the white noise of our stay, or captivated by the swoops and sharp trill of red-whiskered bulbuls.
It was in those moments, together in comfortable silence, that my mind often turned to the future – one without my beloved grandmother, a surrogate mother in many ways.
Dinner at Le Barachois is an over-water delight, accompanied by fish splashing beside guests and the slight rocking of the floor as waiters navigated tables
This definitely isn’t the place where you have to fight for a sunlounger – the space you get is one of Prince Maurice’s greatest assets, writes Ben
We last travelled together in 2019, a cruise around south-east Asia, and I felt the weight of time that’s passed.
She’s an exceptionally youthful 80-year-old, but it’s hard watching someone you love becoming just that beat slower. Most upsetting is her lack of confidence – I long for her to relax and not doubt herself, just as she’d encourage me to do.
When the weather took a turn, with afternoons seeing heavy downpours, we had a chance to sit and talk nonsense. I’d like to think our trip went a little way to repaying her for everything she’s done for me. Other than the stuffed dodo for my little boy, we took few things home – really just those important memories.
A week after the trip, she messaged me a picture of the sky from west Dorset. She wrote: ‘Blue but not like Mauritius! Time has gone fast since being home.’
I’ll not leave it six more years before we travel together.
TRAVEL FACTS
Turqouise Holidays (turquoiseholidays.co.uk; 01494 678400) offer a week’s half-board holiday at Constance Prince Maurice from £2,825pp staying in a Garden Junior Suite. Includes return private transfers and return flights on Air Mauritius. Based on two people travelling in May 2026. For further details on Constance Prince Maurice, visit constancehotels.com.
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