Bright Lights, Big City, Bad Cabs

The last two weeks have been quite a journey and all that remains before I get back to work is a day’s train ride to Manakara and 100K brousse ride back to Ambalona. It was only last Thursday that I embarked on a two day journey to the nation's capital Anatananarivo (Tana). The first leg brought me to Fianar in about 6 hours while the second spanned over 12 hours. Fortunately when traveling far by brousse you have the option of going national, where there are restrictions on the number of passengers and the seats have more padding, headrests, but still no seatbelts. We managed to reserve a brousse with some other volunteers, so I can't say it was bad ride. In the stupor that crystallizes after living on a brousse all day, we pulled into the station in Tana. Pure chaos, from the pos-pos (rickshaw) drivers to the mpivaratras (merchants), everyone was looking for some good ol' western cash. We managed to convince the driver to drop us and all of gear off at the MEVA (PC's transit house) for less than the price of several tin can cabs.  

Squash Update

Now a little word about the cabs. Madagascar has the fine privilege of hosting a collection of some of France's finest automobiles and Tana's is by far the most extensive. There's the new age Peugeot 205, 405, and 505; there are Renault 4s with the most innovative or obtuse gear lever ever produced; and there's the legendary Citroën 2CV which is quite possibly the worst car ever produced, and the setting for one of the most entertaining cab rides yet. It was a Saturday afternoon, and the thick petrol laden air was just getting up to operating temperature in the big city. We descended into the bajary without any specific needs, but merely to try and grasp the controlled chaos that is everyday life. We haggled with the mpivaratras over dominoes, batteries, fruit, and anything else that caught our eye; we took rain checks on street meat, street tattoos, and street names. After nearly two hours we found ourselves in need of ride back to the hotel. After browsing the line of cabs, we based our decision, not on the quality of the car but on the car we most wanted to ride in. Until this moment I had still been denied the pleasure of riding in a Citroën 2CV. This legendary automobile has even rallied across Europe's worst roads; only unlike our cab it featured a second 25HP engine to solely drive the second axel. Our first discovery was that the driver's side rear door was inoperable, and we thus proceeded to the other side. The driver pressed the starter button, then pressed the starter button, and finally pressed the starter button and the Craftsmen lawnmower came to life. The two speed transmission harnessed nearly half of the engines HP and we limped onto the main drag; our destination, the Hotel Zenith. As the 2CV wiggled along the cobble stone streets, our driver informed us that he didn't know where the Zenith hotel was. We quickly determined that this could very well become a bad situation; almost like driving a 2CV through Nazi occupied France. We proceeded to stop and ask every legitimate citizen for directions, however due to the variety of pronunciations for Zenith, it was to no avail. At this point while we tried to communicate our basic understanding of the cities geography our driver informed us that this was "Tena taybe!" that no one knew where the hotel was. Luckily with the aid of a few landmarks our trusty steed crawled up to the curb of the Hotel Zenith.  

This is Eloi, he's about 2 backpacks tall

After a week of training up in Montasoa, where we learned how to farm chickens, access PC funding, and remedy any language woes; we returned to the Zenith in order to regroup for the next day’s journey home. We hailed a Renault 4 and headed to the brousse station with a bit too much luggage. We lugged our baggage over to our brousse and threw it up on the roof where it combined with everything from sacks of rice to chickens. Out of the corner of my eye I witnessed a portly Gasy man who had a strange resemblance to Jon Lovitz. We crammed in the brousse and so did this man, only in the driver's seat. We worked our way out of the city and were once again southbound on the RN7. At this point Jon Lovitz engaged his clubbing sunglasses, his top 40 aftermarket stereo, and his high center of gravity hyperdrive. I can say that we made Fianar in record time but I can also say that I'm quite familiar with the smell burning brakes and rubber.

Above the Fianar's Crowded Streets

Yesterday we found a little free time in Fianar to enjoy a favorite Gasy pastime, music. Just down the road from the Fianar MEVA, Oladad played to a growing crowd over the course of the afternoon. They warmed up with some Marley standards then bust out into their own Gasy infused reggae derivative. The music and dance more than warranted my attendance but I can't say that I would have run into my new friend Vincent if I hadn't gone.

This is Vincent, he retired from the VTSP a few years ago

Tomorrow I head south via rail, the train runs every other day and should take anywhere from 8 to 20 hours to arrive in Manakara. I anticipating something similar to the The Darjeeling Limited but we'll have to wait and see.

Salama

Nick