On the small beach of Tamarin, the tourists do not hurry by, but the Mauritians are used to gathering at the end of the day.
The village exudes tranquillity, barely disturbed by the cheerful notes of the small (and only) three-star hotel on the bay, run by Cyril Michel, a committed jazz man. Suddenly, the light dims. As in the theatre, it is a sign that the show is about to begin. For the star of the evening is slowly going to disappear. Its light, soft and orange, reflected on the sand and salt water, radiates across the horizon. In the distance, the mountains appear devoured by flames when, close to the other side of the river, the vegetation is like a sequined dress.
A pantheistic and dramatic ode that will leave you appeased and finally, wrapped in night.