The Rituals of Leaving and Landing (Plaisance, Both Ways)

There is a specific kind of person you become at an airport.

You are not the person you were an hour before, when you were still packing. You are not the person you will be six hours later, when you land. You are somewhere between the two. Standing in a queue with your passport out.

I have gotten to know that person over 20 years of leaving and landing at Plaisance. Here is what she does.

1. Two Hours. Not One More, Not One Less.

The Plaisance departure rhythm.

We arrive at the airport exactly two hours before the flight. Not two and a half. Not one and a half. Two.

Two is my sweet spot between "I do not want to stress" and "I do not want to sit here forever wondering if I forgot my passport."

Check-in is always done online the night before.

My parents drop us off. They have done it every single trip since our first flight together in 2019. They know the routine now. They wait until we drop our bags at the counter, we wave, and they leave. No long goodbyes at Plaisance. They know I will be back.

Then comes security.

I do not care how many times I do this, security always makes me feel like a drug dealer. The way they look at your bag. The way they look at you. The moment they pull something out and stare at it while you sweat lightly through your linen shirt. I am carrying a bottle of body mist and a laptop. Every time, I feel like I have to prove it.

The verdict: two hours is enough time to feel calm without feeling bored. Anything more, and the doubt starts.

2. The Lounge and the Champagne

A ritual I refuse to break.

Once we are through security, we go directly to the Air Mauritius lounge.

The lounge at Plaisance is small, quiet, cosy. Not one of those enormous international hubs with too many people and no seats. Just enough space to breathe.

And no matter what time our flight leaves, we drink champagne.

Yes, at 6am. Yes, at 11pm. Yes, on Monday morning.

I know it sounds ridiculous. It is a small ritual we have made non-negotiable. That first glass in the lounge marks the beginning of the trip. Everything before it is preparing. Everything after it is travelling. The glass is the border.

The verdict: every trip needs one small moment that says "this has started." Ours is a glass of champagne we did not need.

3. The Only Duty-Free Purchase I Ever Make (On the Way Out)

Chewing gum. Every single time.

On the way out, I do not buy much at duty-free. I have rarely bought perfume at an airport. I have never picked up chocolates. I have never lingered over the sunglasses.

I do, however, always buy chewing gum. Because my ears do that thing at takeoff and landing where they refuse to pop, and I have learned that a stick of Airwaves is the difference between a comfortable flight and a five-hour headache.

On the way back, the story is different. That is where duty-free finally earns its place in my wallet. Chocolates for cousins. Perfumes for my parents. Small bottles of something nice for the parents who have been asking "when are you back?" on WhatsApp for two weeks. I turn into the walking gift shop on the return leg.

Everything I ignore on the way out, I collect on the way in.

The verdict: ignore 95% of the duty-free on the way out. Fill your bags on the way back. Duty-free is really a return-trip ritual.

4. The Person I Am Before Boarding vs After

A quiet conversation with Nim, then complete radio silence.

At the lounge, I am a piplette. A chatterbox. I talk to Nim non-stop for the whole hour. I list every activity I am excited about. Every restaurant I want to try. Every place I want to photograph. He nods and lets me go, because he knows.

Once we board and my seatbelt clicks, I go completely silent. Headphones in. Eyes forward. I do not say another word for the entire flight.

Not because I am angry. Because I am nervous.

I have flown dozens of times. I still do not love flying. I channel every ounce of my talkative energy into that lounge hour, and then I close the door for the flight.

Nim knows this now. He does not talk to me on the plane either. He watches four movies. Four. I have never once seen him make it through a whole film in real life, but on a plane he can consume an entire cinema's worth of content in silence next to me. It is one of the small mysteries of our marriage.

The verdict: know when to talk and when to shut up. Your travel partner will thank you.

5. The Photo I Take Every Single Time

A ritual I did not know I had.

Once I am seated on the plane, before the doors close, I take out my phone and I take a photo of us.

Nim and me. Seatbelts on. My hair messy. His hoodie halfway zipped. Some random view of the seat pocket in front of us.

Every. Single. Flight.

I have a folder on my phone that is nothing but us on planes. Six years of it. It is the least Instagram-worthy series of photos I own, and it is the one I would save first if the phone caught fire.

The verdict: find the photo you take without thinking. That is the one that will actually mean something in ten years.

6. Landing Times, Depending Where We Come From

A small logistical philosophy.

For flights back from Europe, I want to land in the morning.

Not because I sleep on the plane. I never sleep. But daytime flights back to Mauritius feel longer, hotter, and more disorienting than night ones. In a morning landing, at least the world is quiet when I finally arrive at Plaisance.

For flights back from Africa, I want to land early evening. Different logic. Africa is close enough that a evening landing means we get back at home and just have to unpack, cook, and adjust before life resumes.

The verdict: the ideal landing time depends on the continent. Learn yours.

7. The Smell of Mauritius

What I notice first, always.

The plane door opens.

Before the smiles from the crew, before the crowded shuttle bus to the terminal, before immigration, the first thing that hits me is the humidity.

Not a smell, exactly. A weight. A softness. A warmth wrapping around my face that no other country in the world has. I inhale once, and I am home before I have even walked through arrivals.

I have tested this against every country I know. Nordic dryness. Cape Town wind. Portuguese sun. Nothing has the specific damp warmth of Mauritian air. Nothing.

The verdict: your country has a smell you did not know you knew until you leave and come back.

8. The Return, In Order

The exact steps of coming home.

My parents pick us up. Same as when we left. They have been doing this for six years, and they still show up smiling like it is the first time.

The drive from the airport is always talkative. We say things like "look, this billboard changed" and "there is more traffic today." We are re-Mauritianising in real time.

At home, the first thing I want is boulettes and mine bouillit. Not a fusion tasting menu. Boulettes. The most Mauritian food there is. That is my body telling me I am back.

Then a shower. Then teeth brushed. Then the suitcases opened.

I never leave a suitcase closed overnight. That is my one rule. Unpack immediately, no matter how tired.

The verdict: the first meal you crave when you land back home is a language your body speaks in.

9. How Long It Takes Me to Feel Mauritian Again

Zero minutes.

Some people talk about needing a week to adjust after a trip. A few days of jet lag. A slow re-entry.

I do not have that.

From the moment I step onto the tarmac at Plaisance, I am home. Fully. Immediately. Every trip we take, every time we come back, my body knows. There is no re-adjustment.

There is no "give me a minute."

I love my country. I have never once regretted coming back.

The verdict: if your body knows you are home the second you land, keep booking the trips. You are travelling from a place of strength, not escape.

The Real Answer

An airport is not a waiting room.

An airport is where you become the version of yourself who is ready to leave. And later, the version of yourself who is ready to come home.

The champagne. The security theatre. The chewing gum. The photo you take without thinking. The silence you keep on the plane. The parents at arrivals. The humidity that welcomes you back before anyone else has the chance.

All of it is the trip.

The plane hours in the middle are just how the trip gets from one airport to the next.

Book the trip. But respect the rituals.

That is where the story really starts.