Mauritius: Rain Showers, Rum Cocktails, and the Art of Balancing

Mauritius is one of those names that sounds expensive. Honeymoon territory. The kind of island where champagne flows like water and resorts build infinity pools for every room. And yes—it can be that.

But it doesn’t have to be.

We landed not with a reservation at some five-star beach palace, but with a modest Airbnb and a rented scooter that wheezed every time we took a hill. We gave ourselves a soft budget—roughly $300 AUD for three nights’ accommodation—and a bit of wiggle room for the occasional splurge. The goal wasn’t luxury. It was access. And Mauritius, if you approach it right, gives you both.

The stay: Close enough to salt air, far enough from room service

We based ourselves on the west coast, near Flic-en-Flac, in a small apartment tucked behind a local café. Nothing flashy—just a clean bed, a working fan, a little balcony for drying swimsuits, and a kitchen that let us make fresh pineapple for breakfast without paying a buffet premium.

The place was $100 AUD a night—split between two of us. We were walking distance from the beach, close enough to smell grilled fish in the evenings, and just far enough from the resort strip to feel like we lived there, at least a little.

Down the street was a fruit stand where the old man smiled every morning like he’d known us for years. A boulangerie sold baguettes still warm from the oven. It was simple. And it was enough.

The water is for everyone

That’s the thing I didn’t expect about Mauritius—the beaches aren’t owned. The water isn’t gated. You can walk past the guards and straight into the sea, no matter where you stay. And we did.

We’d pick a different beach each day—Le Morne, Trou aux Biches, Mont Choisy—pack some fruit, maybe a cold Phoenix beer or two, and park under a tree. The water never disappoints. It’s always warm. Always calm. Always the kind of blue that doesn’t look real.

We'd spend hours swimming, reading, doing nothing.

And then, just when the sun started softening and the golden hour rolled in, we’d slip into the fancy world.

Playing resort for the price of a cocktail

Mauritius' luxury resorts aren’t fortresses. They’re temples—beautiful, open, sometimes over-the-top—but they’re not impossible to access. So we dressed clean, walked in like we belonged, and ordered a drink.

At LUX Le Morne, we sat at the beach bar with paper-thin napkins under our glasses and watched the sun fall behind the basalt cliffs. One drink each, slowly. Rum with fresh vanilla. Enough to stay awhile.

At The Oberoi, we booked dinner in advance—not the full tasting menu, just a starter, a main, and a long walk on the lit paths between ponds and lanterns afterward. The food was exceptional. But more than that, it was the feeling: that we’d touched this world without being owned by it.

That we’d said yes to the experience, but not to the price tag.

A few days east: Markets, buses, and wet mountain roads

We spent a few days near Mahebourg, on the east coast, where things felt quieter and more local. The Airbnb was even cheaper—about $80 a night—and we ate at tiny food stands along the waterfront: dholl puri, gateaux piments, roti rolled with chili sauce and pickles.

One rainy morning we caught a local bus into the mountains to hike near Black River Gorges. The clouds were low, and the trails were slick with mist, but we saw monkeys and wild ginger and waterfalls crashing through ferns. No guide. No gear. Just mud on our shoes and mango juice in our bag.

Sometimes we’d finish the day with takeout in bed, windows open, fan turning slow. It was all we needed.

What Mauritius taught me

Mauritius taught me that you don’t need to afford the view to enjoy it.

That you can walk barefoot on a five-star beach with salt in your hair and sand in your shorts, and you’re still welcome—because the island doesn’t care where you sleep.

It reminded me that luxury isn’t always about cost. Sometimes it’s about choice. Choosing when to spend, and when to sit on the sand with a $3 beer and the same sunset as the people paying a thousand.

And sometimes, the best trips are the ones where you float between worlds—one foot in the local rhythm, one foot in the curated fantasy—without fully giving yourself to either.

Mauritius let us do that. Gently. Generously.

And I’d go back in a heartbeat—Airbnb keys in hand, swimsuit drying on the railing, dinner plans somewhere with linen napkins and a happy hour.