A while ago you found me writing about the trials of wearing a sari, from mastering a simple stride to manoeuvring calls of nature.

I put the profundity of these challenges down to my own cultural incompetence. I am not a regular sari wearer.

However, bearing witness to an elaborate and colourful religious festival – Navratri – in Mauritius has taught me that even the most cultured of Asian ladies can face difficulties when wearing saris.

Tomorrow I fly back to the UK and return to the daily grind of life as a fashion consultant. OK, it’s not that much of a grind, but it’s a far cry away from holidaying on a tropical island. So yesterday I found myself on the beach for the last time. It was a blissfully relaxed afternoon spent lounging on the sand, splashing in the sea and skipping stones towards the sun.

Then, in the late of the afternoon, we heard the sound of drums nearing the bay. This is not unusual here. Mauritian beachgoers often break into spontaneous song and dance, usually of the ‘Sega’ variety - the catchy, folkloric style of local music. Dancing to these anthems traditionally involves wearing long flared skirts which can be swished around to the exotic beat.

But that wasn’t the reason for the drumming. Instead the drummers were hailing the arrival of a life-sized statue of Durga, a Hindu goddess, being carried towards the water by splendidly clad worshippers, followed by a troupe of equally stylish men and women, all draped in their finery.

Filled with curiosity, I grabbed my camera and sprinted across the beach to get a better view. Everyone was cheering and dancing, throwing dyed powders over the statue. Suddenly the beach was awash with colour, creating quite a spectacular sight. The group moved towards the water, where two boats were waiting to take them out to sea, to release the statue as part of the festival ritual.

The hot afternoon sun beat down upon us. I was wearing a blue beaded bikini. The other ladies on the beach had more ambitious attire. All of them were wearing traditional costumes – stunning saris and shimmering trouser suits known here as ‘churidars’. Many of the men also wore intricately decorated clothing. It was all beautiful to look at but no doubt they were baking under all those layers.

Not to worry though, because they soon discovered a quick way to cool down as they all tried to board the boats.

Neither of them was particularly large or modern. They were basically small wooden crafts with motors attached haphazardly as ‘improvements’. There were no handy steps to help the women into the boats, not even a little jetty from which to jump. The best they could do was wade precariously into the waves (the tide was rising by now) and launch themselves, bottoms first, on to the side of the vessels. It was a scene worthy of the Titanic, conjuring images of high class passengers scrambling for the lifeboats. Thankfully they didn’t capsize (although one came quite close) and they all jetted off into the sunset.

But the memory of this, for me, has set a new peak for cultural conquests. Never again shall I complain of the hazards I face when wearing a sari.