Ave Maria and the Buttercream-Colored Girl

Or ‘How I know I’m not in Minnesota anymore’.

Stop signs are optional. 

This was discovered back during the white knuckle days of learning to navigate the streets.  There is one particular stop sign in the big city where everybody just kind of rolls on by.  I do it, too, but the initial thrill has worn off. 

In the beginning it was all rather naughty, but after snickering my way through many roll-bys, I just kind of complain now if the guy or gal in front of me isn’t rolling on through quick enough.

You can park anywhere, anytime for any amount of time.

Sure, there are plenty of no-parking and private parking signs.  But, what good is a sign without enforcement?  I have never seen a tow truck hauling any illegally parked cars here.  Parking tickets?  Maybe they are given out, but I haven’t seen any meter maids or cops walking the streets tagging cars.

The whole island is like a giant free-for-all parking lot.  If you can’t find a spot, just pull off the road an inch so that at least one tire is off the pavement and park it.  No need for hazard lights or even to signal that you are, in fact, slowing down to park in the middle of the street.  That’s what brakes are for and the steering wheel was made for moving around such obstacles.

It took 5 weeks to change the pool light.

I still don’t know why this particular repair was such a tricky one.  After we had the fire in the fuse box, it only took 4 days to get electricity back to normal in all parts of the house and when the kitchen light went a little batty, it took a mere 2 weeks to discover that, indeed, the bulb really did need to be changed.

At the 3 week mark and while a friend of mine was visiting from Chicago, I had high hopes that soon the pretty blue glow would once again be bouncing off the palms.  When I came home from work that night, my friend told me that the pool guy had, once more, been around and changed the light.  I walked over to the on/off switch and flipped it on.  Nothing. 

Maybe the underwater element added another level of complexity or maybe it was just time to call it a day?  And I guess after 3 weeks of trying different bulbs and other such electrical maneuvering, to test that the most recent bulb installation would work, would be rather a big occasion.  I think the pool guy graciously wanted me to have the first joy of experiencing the light working, again.  And after another 2 weeks, it did.

Sometimes it pays to get that extra option.

There’s a parking ramp located at the main/tourist shopping complexes here.  The drill is to pull a ticket when entering and then pay at a machine before heading back into your car to exit.  Just remember to load up on your ginko biloba if you’re parking there.

On many an occasion, the Frenchman and I have sat in our car and waited while someone who had driven down to the one exit, parked their car at the exit and got out of their car.  The driver then walked back up the steep concrete ramp and across the parking garage to head over to the elevators to go down to the machine on the main level to pay the ticket.  One chance, folks.  Just one chance.

As many people or things that can fit into a car can also fit onto a scooter.

There’s always space and when there’s a scooter, there’s a way.  It’s not uncommon to see 3 people cruising the main roadways and town streets on one scooter.  Add to the mix, a pile of bags with the weekly shopping and you really do start to question the necessity of a mini-van.

 Sometimes, the early morning traffic mix will include a gifted and talented man with a giant bundle of tree clippings, the breath of which is as wide as the road,  strapped to his head put-putting it to his end point.  Have body.  Have scooter.  Will move.

Scooter helmets are mandatory, but lights at night are a nice-to-have.

 I’ve developed a reflex night-driving skill – quick recognition of a body outline atop a scooter in the inky darkness.  While wearing of a helmet when riding a scooter is mandatory and everybody here complies, it seems as if having working tail lights and headlights is not as critical. 

Sure, lights are great when trying to see where you’re going at night, especially if the territory is unknown and bumpy; but are they really necessary when quickly cruising down the main paved highway? Once you become familiar with a road, it’s like auto-pilot.  One could even say that you really could drive it with your eyes closed.

Indoor lighting design is over-rated and unnecessary.

Why fuss and muss with choosing a fancy-pants light fixture even if you have extra money to toss about.  Just slap a long tube fluorescent bulb to the middle of a wall or at the edge of a ceiling and you’re good to go.  It’s easier to change the bulb without the cover and nothing gets in the way of the pure light projectile.

It’s good to have friends.

Some people scope the lines at passport control to find someone they know and then shake hands during passport processing.  I always just go to the line they send me to and I’ve never been offered a hand to shake.

Black smoke is nothing to worry about.

The burning sensation in your eyes and throat is either caused by the annual burning of the sugar crops or your neighbor  is just burning some trash and furniture in his front yard.  Smoke blows away.

It’s not us, it’s you.  Now, please go away.

Swiping of debit and credit cards doesn’t always work the first time due to heavy traffic, but instead of trying to swipe your card again, the cashier tells you it doesn’t work and starts helping the next customer.  99% of the time when asked for a second swipe, it works.  Hope is holding onto the 1%.

Prices are determined by how ‘money’ you look.

When shopping at any of the bazaars or local fruit and vegetable stands, the price that I pay always seems to be slightly higher than the going daily rate.

Always have offline activities ready at the office

I can not count how many times when I was working in the main downtown business hub that we lost network connectivity for over 3/4 of a day.  The reason for lost connectivity?  Stolen cables that were dug out of the ground to be sold.  The first time, I bought it.  The second time, I thought maybe they should install a fence or have a patrol.  The third time, I knew the IT network guy was just buying time.

Salmonella strikes at snack shack

Salmonella at KFC

Yesterday, the front pages of two of the larger circulated newspapers here (L’express & Le Matinal) featured articles about the recent salmonella outbreak that was just discovered at the island’s KFC locations.

KFC is very popular here.  While there is only one McDonald’s, there are over a dozen KFCs.  I think the heavy Hindi presence on the island has something to do with this, as well as, the menu at Micky D’s being heavily loaded with all things chicken.

The Minister of Health closed 11 of the franchises (there are 14 operating in total in Mauritius) as of yesterday morning, but now it appears that all of the KFCs have been temporarily shuttered with 10 tons of chicken seized for inspection and testing.  I have no clue where this chicken came from, but I suspect within the coming days as the story rolls out like a soap opera, we’ll find out.

I applaud the Ministry of Health  for taking action and doing surprise inspections at restaurants.  This should be going on all the time, which I’m quite certain it is not.  There’s chatter on the streets that this surprise inspection was in fact because of some political motivation or industrial sabotage. 

Then again, everything here has some sort of unspoken underlying cause and effect and people love to gossip and speculate.  It is a very small country and words of all sorts move in and out of the concrete cracks all the time.

 I can’t say that I’m shocked nor surprised.  Salmonella outbreaks have been popping up back in the States at an alarming rate.  Which is rather horrible considering that America is supposed to have one of the toughest food and beverage safety standards on the planet. 

I can’t even shake my ‘hey, I’m an American and our USDA FSIS rocks!’ pom poms at anyone.  People are puking it out back home just like they are here.

My Chicken Connection

By sheer luck of the constellations, because I would never, ever have placed myself in the position that I was placed, I had the lifetime opportunity (let’s call it that) while working at the consulting firm here, to be assigned to a project that involved a poultry processing plant. 

Of course it would have to be me.  Of all the managers at the firm (all 12 of us), I was the only one with any relevant warehouse and F&B plant manufacturing experience.  And so I bravely went down the rabbit’s hole with clipboard in hand to see how Africa’s chickens are made and manufactured. 

Even though I was a tad uneasy when I was first told that I would be heading into the world of meat and other various food and beverage manufaturing/processing,  I was also rather excited.  Not Christmas is coming excited, but excited none the less.  I’ve never been in a meat processing facility of any kind and it would be educational to see how the food I eat made it from farm to table.

And for me, this would also be such an incredibly different experience from any of the plants I had worked in back in the States.  This was a plant on an African island nation.  There was bound to be something to hold my interest. 

And indeed, there were many points of interest, starting with what I had to wear to go on my tour of the facility. 

Sloshing around in the giant white rubber boots they gave me because all other pairs my size were apparently taken, I buttoned up my white lab coat and tucked my hair up into the hair net.  I was ready to be poulty educated, but I couldn’t help thinking that apart from the boots all the gear looked like it should be in a hospital or a medical clinic, not a manufacturing facility.  Perhaps the purchasing department got a bulk discount on medical or laboratory uniforms. 

During the tour, I kept thinking of myself as a scientist on a secret research mission since there was a definite 1960’s vibe going on with the lab coats.  In fact, many times an arial shot of the shop floor wouldn’t have looked out-of-place in a 007 film’s secret lair where all the bad guys were running about wearing matching lab coats and boots.  The chicken carcasses zig-zagging through the place would need to be replaced by giant boxes or brightly colored tubs, but it really wouldn’t be that far off.

As we moved from station to station, I just couldn’t help thinking, “why can’t this be a chocolate factory or a textile mill.”  But, I went along and listened to all the facts presented to us.  From the ‘kill room’ which I did not enter simply because I felt it best not to lose my nuggets (yes, we had been given a lunch of chicken nuggets prior to the tour) in front of the crew to the final cutting and packaging of giblets, we saw it all. 

We had been shown the tour in reverse order and the smell from the ’rendering’ building was just a tad overwhelming for me.  I told everyone that I was going to allow myself to use my imagination to envision how the live birds were strung up on the conveyor belt, electrocuted, halal throat slit, etc. 

However by sheer luck and unfortunate timing, I did get to witness the blood spattered and feather coated glass window that separated the main office that overlooked the de-feathering machine at one of the smaller plants we visited later in the day. 

My imaginary visions were not that far off from reality, although I was later told by one of my team that the de-feathering machine was actually rather cool to see up close and in action.  This would just have to be one of those many missed moments.

I never did make it out to the farms to see the chickens stacked many to a cage being stuffed with antibiotics.  But I did get to attend many meetings where I listened to how eggs ultimately became chickens which then ultimately became dinner ingredients.

The costing structures were long and detailed.  The manufacturing routings simple and yet, somehow complex.  But, the one thing that always struck me was that there wasn’t ever any mention to have steps included for QA testing of the chicken.  The plant was clean and had standards to keep things sanitary, but there really wasn’t any type of regular and consistent QA check for salmonella and other such things mentioned and required.

Perhaps, it’s standard practice in the industry in many countries.  Maybe it’s all handled out at the farms.  I wouldn’t know because I’m not a poultry processing expert.  Although, now I do know more than I ever thought I would know about chicken meat and that’s something for the expat living memory book.

The images have faded from my memory, but  every now and again I do get a whiff of something that pulls at my olfactory bank.  And yes, I still eat chicken, but I’m afraid that those juicy breasts will be pulled from the cooking rotation for a while until the reality/scandal/rumors/investigation/sabotage/story-in-the-making subsides.

The only true fact for myself is that real free-range, organic, quality-inspected chicken will be consumed by me in massive amounts as soon as I can get my hands on some.  And, I wish we could have kept the boots.  They would come in handy during cyclone season.

Moneytrees and the art of development

How does a developing country get a leg up and what’s been big news on my tiny home away from home?

At the very end of January and very beginning of February 2009, the Chinese sent a delegation over to the island of Mauritius to see if there were any potential investment/development opportunities here. 

I remember this quite clearly because I was on my way to the airport to head for a visit to France.  The main highway that stretches from the south to the north on the island was lined with the People’s Republic red flags.  Some of these flagpoles were even installed specifically for this visit and high traffic round-a-bouts were tidied up. 

This was clearly a very important visit and the island was preparing itself.  The police sent out notifications saying that some roadways would be closed for certain portions of the day and that daily commuters into the city of Port Louis would need to seek alternative routes. 

The buzz in the office that day wasn’t really about the ‘why’ or the ‘what’ of the upcoming visit.  People were talking mostly about all of the inconvenient fuss and muss of the traffic closures.

The Chinese came.  They saw.  They struck up some deals.  And these deals included some pretty substantial cash that they intended to drop here.

I have read in the local and Indian press that China is investing $750 million in Mauritius.  As part of this investment, the Shanxi Tianli Enterprises Business Park will be created and construction is already underway.  The main highway (the same one with all those red flags those many months ago) is even being widened to account for potential new traffic flows.

The new business park will bring in different manufacturing industries.  Some of the ones mentioned thus far have been coking coal and iron and steel.  A new 300-bed hospital, as well as, three new hotels and a planned $200 million airport expansion are also in the midst of development.

Construction crews and equipment can be seen all over the island and it’s all happening with remarkable speed.

There’s a manufacturing plant over by the freeport area in Port Louis.  Most days you can see a yellow, brown steady stream of smoggy smoke pumping up into the air. 

I mentioned this to one of my co-workers at the time and asked him if he was concerned about the pollution.  His only comment was, “Oh, it just blows away into the ocean.”

Bad Coca Cola Products in Mauritius

This post may seem a little un-fun and it’s nothing glamorous or exciting, but in my little micro-home of an island, I find this issue to be of importance.  It’s my day-to-day and I know there are some Mauritians out there that read this blog.  I hope this post gets people thinking.

For the past two weeks all of the bottled Coca Cola products at the local giant supermarket in the North of the island have had bad bottle caps on them.  More specifically, it is almost impossible to open the bottles because there is a defective ring cut on the plastic bottle tops.  And when I say ‘impossible’, I mean that I am physically not able to open these bottles.  They are sealed completely and the most recent ones I have in the house have a batch manufacture date of 14 AUG 09 06:11.

In my career and line of work, I have witnessed far too many times manufacturing plants base their production KPIs on through-put or on how much quantity of a particular SKU is produced on a daily, weekly or monthly basis.  While quantitative data is extremely relevant and should always be used during planning, forecasting and targeting; quality of product should also be considered.

With food and beverage manufacturing, the manufacturing departments of a company will often times will have solid numbers while sales numbers will be down or not matching up to what’s being produced.  If a company does not have good B2B data exchanges with their customers, it is nearly impossible to know how much of any given product are sitting in the distribution warehouse or back stock shelves.

It’s natural that both manufacturing and sales both want to reach their target and forecast numbers, but what happens when bad products aren’t recalled and make it to the store shelves for purchase and consumption?  Should consumers still pay the same price for a product that should have been scrapped due to quality issues?

These products should have been scrapped and a P&L hit should have been taken.  And if a manufacturing cost center has not been set-up with a budget for scrap allowance, it should be because time and materials were consumed.

Personally, I thinks it’s rather shameful that the local bottling company of Coca Cola products allowed these defective ring cut caps off of the shop floor and into local distribution.  This is the first time I’ve seen this here so obviously there was either a new bottle seal machine put into use, a new calibration done, a new operator on shift or a lack of quality control and training.

Because I believe that consumers do have rights and that we should be able to purchase quality products for our money, I have switched to Pepsi until the shelves are cleared out of these defective products.  Pepsi is bottled by another local bottling company and if you walk the aisle to check on all the bottles, you’ll see the difference.

In fact, there aren’t even any canned Diet Coke or Coke Zero on the shelves.  It’s as if the only option for purchase are the defective bottled products, but are there cans on the back stock shelves, I wonder?  While the many tourists that stock up on these bad products will continue to buy them unknowingly, I, as a local resident, am not buying into it and I want to encourage other local consumers to take notice and voice an opinion.

Let’s have fun together, twist.

Mauritius Dance Fever 2009

The quote for this post’s title was said by a judge for a dance competition during his introduction.  It stuck with me for the remainder of the evening.

Last night I was fortunate enough to attend the final live broadcast competition of the Mauritius Dance Fever 2009 Final as a VIP guest.  The local NBC television station was at the Intercontinental resort’s ballroom to record the contest in all its glory.   The night of dance-off festivities did not disappoint. 

Earlier in the day, we were given our invitations.  Our VIP status was due to the fact that we know one of the people that acted as Master of Ceremonies for the evening.  The invitation stated that since the event was going to be broadcast live, all people should arrive no later than 7:15 p.m. because the show was beginning promptly at 7:30 p.m.

We’ve become accustomed to the ways of scheduling here and arrived at 7:45 p.m. as did half the other audience members.

 The show began at 9:00 p.m. 

The Dance Fever competition actually started fourteen weeks ago and last night was the grand finale - the big win.  The first place prize was a paid trip to Australia to audition to attend a dance school there with the runner-up given a trip to Rodriques.

Being VIP guests gave us access to a lounge area outside with some food nibbles and cheap wine. 

The wine was quickly consumed by my three Frenchmen chaperones for the evening with the hope of achieving what I can only think of as some sort of numbing blindness against all the rhinestones, sequins and metallic fabric.

I wish the invite had mentioned something about wearing something sparkly because everyone involved in the production and many members of the audience were head to toe razzle-dazzle.  Before last night, I hadn’t realized that adding a strip or two or many loose, chunky dangles of rhinestone crystals to the lapels or pants of a man’s suit could be so striking especially under harsh lighting.

The costume changes were frequent and involved not only the changing of what a competitor or performer was wearing, but many switches of props, as well, because these days what’s real dancing without the use of masks, lit candles, giant sticks, dog food dishes, hula-hoops or human-sized stuffed tigers?

Things started out with a series of group dances performed by some of the island’s resort Sega-show dancers, ‘The Dancing Soldiers’, as well as, other local dance professionals.  Two of the judges even got in on the grooving by lip-syncing and dancing to a few remixed tunes.  It was like everyone’s Britney moment was being realized and broadcast live across the island.

Competitive dancing is serious business and last night’s final brought the danger zone extremely close for a few people.  The first group dance proved to be a jazz-hand hazard as one woman was smacked in the face by her dancing neighbor.  Later, another woman’s head hit the floor during a spiral lift.

Another competitor, who I began to refer to as ‘the serious one’ after her first performance because she announced beforehand, “welcome to my world of fear”, danced very well to rather scary sounding opera/slasher movie music while she lost the top portion of her dress.  And I’m quite certain this was not the choreographed example of fear that she was trying to convey.

Later, this same competitor had to perform one of the judge-assigned dances in the third round.  Her assigned dance was the disco.  It was the saddest disco I’ve ever seen.  Her lime-green sequin dress and toe-tapping music of ABBA’s ‘Voulez Vous’ could not erase her world of fear from my memory.  Even if she were to step through the doors of Studio 54, I don’t think her personal nightmare would have ended.

One of the more disturbing, yet interesting, numbers of the night came when the group of all white dancers came on stage to perform.  They followed other groups of dancers who had performed dances such as the traditional island Sega (this was the best performance of the night in my opinion) and Bollywood-style Indian dancing.

The beats of a techno-military remix of guns being loaded and assembled, as well as, explosions going off pumped through the speakers as the dancers took the stage half-naked.  It was shocking to suddenly see the stage filled with naked white people grinding to some bizarre pro-violence dance track.  And the method of dancing was 100% pure stripper-pole minus the poles.

I yelled out the single wolf-howl as two male beefcakes shook and ground what clearly took many, many hours in the gym and a daily dose of GNC powdered something or another to achieve.  I couldn’t help it.  It just seemed appropriate and if I would have had a few free-floating rupees quick at hand, I would have rushed to the stage to stuff them somewhere where the Bollywood sun wasn’t shining.

After an hour of non-stop action which had many of the dancers ending their 60 second performances by violently hitting the stage in full-body slams, half the audience had left the ballroom to smoke and drink.  One of the judges even missed seeing one of the competitors’ second round performances because he didn’t make it back from break in time.

It was as if everyone had used up all the practiced and built-up energy in the beginning and now that things were winding-down, it was time to relax into a more casual form of performance from the local talent. 

A singer missed his cue and while the music played and his voice sang, his background dancers came out and danced.  When he finally made it to the stage, he entered from stage right with his back to the audience with both hands occupied by what seemed to be the struggling efforts of zipping up his fly.

But, the competitors remained focused and three hours after their dreams sparkled under the spotlights, a winner was announced.

I loved every second of it.