Trackside at the horse races in Mauritius

Six horses out of the gate with the city in the background

We didn’t come to Mauritius to go to the horse races, but we did exactly that on our last full day in the country. 

It’s not all that surprising given that our hotel room overlooked the nation’s main racetrack, the Champ de Mars. In fact, our hotel has the same name. Every morning we watched the horses train. 

Racing got started in Port Louis, the nation’s capital, in the early 1800s. The English, who conquered the island in 1810, decided the social atmosphere of horse racing might help to win over the French settlers, and bring peace and harmony after years of fighting. 

It must have had some positive effect. The island is mainly French and Creole-speaking, although everyone seems to manage in English too. And the races are still going, with the largest crowd of 100,000 in 1984. 

Events are every Saturday from 10am to 4pm. After a half-day of sightseeing, we arrived in time to see the last three races. We started on the hotel side of the track and I took photos from the rail. Virtually nothing between me and the horses. 

At the rail on the hotel side of the track with hills in the background

Then we walked around to the main entrance and through the crowds placing bets and buying food and drink (lots of Phoenix, the local beer, on offer). We even joined the hoards and wandered into the ‘winner’s circle’, ignoring the sign that said ‘officials and press only beyond this gate’. Not sure we lived up to the rules on dress code either. 

Once again I could stand virtually trackside, while Poor John sat in the stands. 

The photos and map show that the track is close to the centre of town and partially surrounded by hills. That last pic was taken from 5th floor of our hotel on Sunday. If you look closely you might see a couple of joggers on the dirt training track. 

A map of the race track. Our hotel is the pink dot.

My history with horse racing

Mary McGraw introduced me to horse racing when I was 12. Mary was one of my parents dearest friends. Her husband, John, worked with my dad at the Army Corps of Engineers. Dad was the civilian pilot for the Corps. 

Mary was devoted to betting on the ponies which raced during the summer months every year in Nebraska. I never went to the races with her in Omaha (children not allowed), but she took me as a companion when she went to other towns. She was afraid of being alone, heights and lightening. Her brother was struck and killed by lightening.

Our first outing was to Lincoln, Nebraska’s capital, where 12-year-olds could enter the track and even place bets. Every day Mary gave me $2 to bet and told me which horse to bet on. I think the winnings from those bets paid for a lot of my college education. 

Cantering past the finish line. The building is outside the track

I still remember the last race of one day. I had $2 on horse 8 in the ninth. It trailed for most of the race and then charged home to win. I was jumping up and down, yelling ‘its winning, it’s winning’. Without looking up from the racing form, Mary simply said, ‘I know’. 

Mary taught me how to read and analyse a racing form, as well as a system for betting. She also taught me the importance of visiting the stalls and having a chat with the jockeys. One day, Mary announced that her betting days were over and she was never returning to the track. She decided that the track had become crooked, and that no amount of study and research would overcome that. 

As an indication of her success, in 1960, Mary made $10,000 during Nebraska’s summer track season. Her tax return listed ‘professional gambler’ as her job.

The view from our hotel with the city in the background and two tiny joggers