Lisagascar & the Mada experience or Gasylisa (I like that one better)

I've been lucky enough to have Lisa come down and visit for the last week and we will both be leaving on my rotation next week to experience a Safari and South Africa. In the meantime we both had the idea that she should write about her experiences and impressions and post them up here for posterity. The following is what she just sent me (and is far more well written than what you're used to on here, so brace yourselves) of her trip thus far. I find it refreshingly well written, honest, and open and am super happy to share. Without further adieu we present to you, Lisagascar.


Since Matt asked me to write a blog post, I suggested we rename it to Lisagascar, but that doesn't quite have the same ring. Matt suggested something involving Lisa and Gassy, so I think we'll stick with Mattagascar.

I have now been here for 7 days. One day in Antananarivo when I arrived in the country and then 6 in the camp. Although most of my days have been quietly spent lounging by the pool, reading, napping and watching hockey, there have been a few rather interesting experiences. Not the least of which was a baking adventure which we will write about later.

My first big shock came when we landed in Tana. My luggage didn't arrive with me (not really surprising so I hear), so I had to file a claim with the luggage man and hope it would show up. Matt met me in arrivals and we hopped in a car and went to the hotel we'd be staying at until our charter flight the next morning. It was a pretty quiet ride as I tried to wrap my head around what I was seeing.

This being my first time in a third world country I was shocked at the level of poverty, but also the contrast between the dirty streets and dilapidated buildings, and the beautiful hotel we stayed in or the big open areas with lovely fields of rice patties and flowers. The hotel had room service and tasty food, though I am not sure if it was actually tasty or if I had just heard such bad things about most of the food that I was just impressed it was edible.  

On Monday morning when I wasn't so exhausted I was able to take in a bit more as we rode to the airport where we would be catching our charter flight to Toamasina. There were people out in the fields harvesting rice patties, lots of little huts on the side of the street selling everything from non-refrigerated chunks of meat, to rice bowls to purses. Antananarivo being the large city that it is, there was a lot more development than I expected, but an obvious lack of funds to anything with it.

The charter flight was beautiful. An hour of flying just over the clouds on a relatively clear day gave me lots of amazing views of the hilly, jungle like land below. There are smatterings of little villages all over the place, large winding rivers and red roads. Seriously beautiful!

Once we got to the airstrip in toamasina for the camp folk we got in a van and drove to camp. This is where I got my first taste of what Matt has been talking about for two years. Matt had me sit in the front seat so I could take it all in, and it was a very humbling experience. There are several little huts, and I do mean huts, made of sticks with grass roofs, that are one room and house whole families. Many of the kids were running around outside while their mothers washed laundry by hand in a tub in a marsh behind the house. I had my camera bag on my lap, which contains several thousand dollars of camera equipment. I felt immediately ridiculous and materialistic. Which of course is ridiculous as I come from a very different place, but it's hard to remember that when confronted with such a stark difference. I mentioned this to Matt afterwards and he said that my camera was worth more than many of those people would ever see in their entire lives. I was immediately ready to throw away everything I owned. 5 days later my brain still doesn't know how to compute that.

We found out that my bag would be arriving in Toamasina the next morning so Matt arranged for the IT driver to take me into town to the airport to get my bags, and asked that he help me out. One of the reasons I needed so much help is I don't speak either of the main languages here so communication is difficult.

It was a rainy day and as we drove through town I got an even bigger sense of the poverty and way of life here. I enjoyed seeing the herds of goats and zebu's wandering down the streets of town, as well as the amount of people carrying chickens. Until of course Matt and his room mates told me that those chickens were likely a families meal for a week!

I also witnessed my first "poop ditch". Apparently there are no public deification laws here, so people can and will just squat in the ditch to take a poop. There was a man taking a poop and several men standing around chatting with him as he did so...in the ditch...in the middle of town. I also saw several men peeing wherever they darn well felt like. I don't think I could ever get used to that. Traffic was a little sketchy as well, with a combination of cars, motorcycles, tuc tucs, pus pus, pedestrians and animals. I was very happy to not be driving, and then had horrible mental images of Matt zipping around on his motorcycle. I shudder at the thought.

Once we got to the airport, the driver took me in and helped me explain what I was there for. There was all sorts of hullabaloo where they were filling out forms and weighing my bag and I couldn't get anywhere near it. Matt and his roommates had warned me about the "porters" in the green vests, and that I should tell them no and take my bag myself. Well being that they had my bag surrounded, before I even realized my bag was ready to go it was on its way out. The driver ran to get the car for me and I politely told the man in the green vest that I would take my bag. He looked away and pretended he had no idea what I was saying. Convenient.

When the car arrived, he lifted the bag into the trunk and then blocked me from the car until I gave him money. I said a few choice words in my head but handed him a couple hundred Ariary as that was the smallest denomination I had. Then he got out of my way without another look and went back inside. Scallywag!

My impression of town, though quite dirty and mostly falling apart, was that some of it was really quite beautiful. No expense is spared on churches, so they are wonderfully marvelous buildings, right beside a broken burnt out spray painted building that used to be who knows what. I was also shocked at the amount of people sitting around doing nothing. I am honestly not sure if this due to lack or work, but I couldn't tell the difference between those on work breaks and those not working at all. They all looked equally disheveled and not interested in doing much.

I had promised Matt and the guys that I would do some baking while here and needed to do some grocery shopping. Matt managed to arrange a couple hours off work on Wednesday morning and took me to town to the two main grocery stores. As soon as we pulled up I was immediately swarmed by little children with their hands out begging "please Madame" in sad little voices, and people trying to sell me any number of things. As instructed, I replied with "no Merci" and a smile and followed Matt into the store.

I found the grocery shopping quite amusing. First, trying to figure out what things were in the baking section when none of it was English was an adventure. Then I thought it odd that you cannot get brown sugar in this country, but they had kraft singles cheese slices! Or Rice Krispies. So strange! The prices were also interesting. I had suggested possibly getting another form of cooking sheet or cake pan, but a small 9x9 Pyrex dish was going to cost somewhere in the vicinity of $65! Good grief.

I decided I would make due with whatever the guys had back in the villa. Leaving the store was the same thing. Immediately swarmed by kids begging. I hopped in the car and left Matt to put the groceries in the trunk. Sorry dear :) the kids continued to bang on the window and door of the car as we drove away to the next stop. The second grocery store appeared to be a bit cleaner and more organized, but the exact same thing happened outside. I am not a fan of that. Thank goodness Matt was there or I would have given them everything I had.

In discussions afterwards Matt pointed out that most of the children looked healthy and had nice clothes on, and that if you give them money they will just run around the corner to their handler and give him the money. I don't understand people that operate like that. Those kids should be in school, rather than living a life like that to perpetuate the cycle. Ugh. I wish that us in first world countries could do something, or do more maybe, though I don't know what.

We drove a different way through the city so I could see the coast, and again it was dotted with zebu and goats. We also passed the prison, which is in town, and there was a long line of people outside. Matt explained that those were people lining up to bring food to their family members that are prisoners. Apparently if you don't have someone to bring you food in prison you don't get fed. I found that quite ingenious actually.

We made it back to camp, and I needed a nap to recover from the mental and emotional overload. I wouldn't say that I ever felt unsafe in town, but I did feel extremely uncomfortable and out of place. In talking with several people about the experience they have all said that the locals easily picked up that I was new and thus went for me first as the easiest target. I feel like that, and the fact that I must have the word "sucker" written across my forehead, means I likely shouldn't venture into town by myself. Not that I would have anyway.

Yet another confusing aspect is that we went out to dinner on Thursday, to the nicest restaurant in town, called Piment Banane. It was lovely! We sat at a nice table on the patio, enjoyed great service and delicious food. I found a large grub in my hair but apparently I will "get used to that". I beg to differ! Anyway, it was so beautiful, but nestled in between a lot of not so beautiful. I am having difficulty wrapping my brain around the contrasts here. I haven't been taking many pictures as it somehow feels wrong. Like I am exploiting the poverty and way of life here. Though I would love to try to capture the beauty and contrasts here, I don't know that I would be able to even if I tried.

 Tonight we are going into town to try out a bar, Matt figures I need to have the full expat experience while here. I am looking forward to it, and to Matt's day off tomorrow to go explore a bit more! It's been quite the eye opening, mellowing experience so far, and I am so thankful for the opportunity to come and experience this.

Christmas motorcycle ride

So this was supposed to go up a long time ago but unfortunately I found out that editing video is a ton more work than I'd ever given it credit for. The horrible video you see below took three hours to cut footage together on... Ugh.

Anyway, on Christmas day I had a few hours off at the end of the day and chose to go for a quick solo bike ride through town to see what was going on. I headed down the main road to town, past the catholic church, prison, city hall, then further North down one of the arteries. Then back East to the beach, rode down the road next to the beach and then back towards the camp. From there I hit the road behind camp, went to the beach, talked for too long to the camera, and then mercifully stopped and rode back to camp.

The video is sped up in the long riding parts but lets you see what Toamasina loos like and is also sloppily paused / subtitled on highlights. For the voice parts you'll have to turn it up, and for the non talking parts you'll want to turn it down. Sorry. The next one will be less horrible... Maybe. :)

Christmas in Madagascar

This year I drew the short straw and had to work over Christmas and will work through the New Year as well. It wasn't all bad news however as I was luckily able to get home at the beginning of December for my two week visit. In her awesome wife fashion, Lisa was wonderful enough to plan all sorts of totally awesome surprises for me. Christmas with both families, boxing day brunch, dinners, shows, new year party, a wonderful surprise from a bunch of awesome friends, all in all I was a pretty spoiled, lucky fellow.

But alas, despite all of her wonderfulness she wasn't able to bend time (work on that one, k dear?), and I had to fly back to work the week before Christmas. But not without one more surprise! Unbeknownst to me Lisa had hand decorated four stockings for the four of us roommates that live in 9A. They came complete with little gifts and goodies for each person and some fake snow to decorate. It was pretty spectacular and a hell of a way for us to feel like we had a touch of Christmas over here.

Rather than do the traditional Christmas stocking thing on Christmas morning, knowing that the guys would be busy skyping family, I asked them for 20 minutes of their time Christmas Eve. I think they thought it odd that once they were back to the villa I immediately asked them to remain in their rooms until I told them to come out, but they were genuinely surprised by Lisa's totally awesome final Christmas surprise.

Started the evening off right with a Malagasy brewed Guinness (great beer).

Ian celebrating pre-stockings as we awaited the return of roommate Bryce.

Things got a little out of hand fairly quickly... :)

My attempt at replicating a Christmas atmosphere. Ian suggested the fire log while we were pre-christmas drinking. Stockings laid out by Santa, complete with snow, and the miniature tree.

Ian's reaction. The double take when he came out of his room was quickly followed by a "NO WAY!" It was awesome.

Bryce's genuine look of surprise. :)

Passing out the stockings.

Bryce got Gingerbread Oreos! They lasted less than 10 minutes... It was a glorious bit of gluttony between the three.

Crib! Awesome!

Christmas smiles

I think this was me opening Minecraft and lamenting the loss of the free time I once had. :)

Christmas cheer!

MEAT! Beef Jerky is the favorite snack of our villa. So tasty and so rare here.

Two engineers trying to build gliders... this is the look you get when you tease them as the college educated IT guy whose already finished your own. :)

Glider ready for a test flight!

Ooops!

Christmas aftermath! We were spoiled!

And a shot of the weather. :)

A totally awesome Christmas eve spent with friends. Thanks be to the best wife ever for putting together something I don't think I'll ever be able to truly pay back.

Mahambo adventures or the coolest thing to do on a Sunday in Madagascar ever

So it's almost been a week since I went for the best ride yet, with a group of great friends that I've been lucky enough to make while here. It's taken that week for me to digest the experience to be honest. I find the older I get the harder it is to quiesce reality with what is going on in front of me. In the last year it's been especially incredible to see all kinds of cool stuff but again even after it settles I find myself thinking "but like.. that wasn't ACTUALLY real, was it?"... It took a while, but I've come to realize that the wonder I have for these places is the best part. Luckily, this last Sunday was no different.

The week had been interesting at work. Very stressful, lots to do, but good regardless - if you feel challenged you don't feel bored. Anyway, planning for the Sunday ride had begun the previous Sunday as is common but it wasn't suggested until late in the week that we hop on the bikes and ride to Foule Pointe, a popular beach town 80KMish North of Toamasina. I'd heard that the road up was in a pretty poor state and was excited - as what better way to test out your dirt bike?

My moustache and I getting ready to hit the road.. oh, and Ian :)

The morning got started early as we knew we had a long ride ahead of us. The original plan was to leave at 8AM, try to get through as much of town as possible without hitting a police checkpoint and then continue North on the road to Foule Pointe.

Some last minute maintenance on Nolan's bike - the exhaust manifold was attempting to liberate itself from the head. Check out the sweet tail bag I brought back on my bike!

Day bag packed, tail bag with tools attached precariously to my ride, we were ready to head out. Last minute paper check to ensure we're all legal, and we were off. First stop? Fuel!

The damn Dutch and their excellent gas are EVERYWHERE!

 No problem! Up the road to the Shell on route 2 on the SouthWest side of town for gas. Every station here is full serve... sorta. There is a guy, he works the pump for you, if there is gas. You pull up, the stations always look closed but there are usually 1 or 2 folks standing around the pump wearing what looks like a uniform. They come over, you tell them what you want for gas and they pump it and ask for money at the end. Never have I seen the store bit open, or more than two people (1 staff, 1 automatic weapon carrying soldier) at a gas station. It's different.

Anyway, fueled up and on the road we were optimistic about our chances of getting through town without much trouble. That was.. until we hit the main part of town and found the roads to be absolutely packed. And I mean full. It was like everyone in Toamasina had decided to go out for a Sunday morning walk/bike/ride/drive! Either way, traffic on a motorcycle is good fun and things were going quite well, making decent time.

We were crossing one of many intersections that are full on all four corners, making our own right of way like the rest of the folks, when I heard the whistle. Police in this corner of Madagascar rarely have cars, in fact I can't recall ever seeing one in Toamasina, nor do they have sirens or really anything other than whistles, white shirts, and rusty old pistols. When you hear the shrill blast of a whistle, you know they are looking at the Vazah in the crowd. Sure enough, in the crowd of folks on the other side of the road is two police officers looking at us with grins and dollar signs floating in their eyes.

You see, policing in Madagacar is unique. I don't claim to fully understand it, or really have anything beyond second hand knowledge of it but from what I do know there are 3 tiers. The first and most well equipped is the Army. These are the dudes carrying some sort of old Russian automatic weapon and wearing fatigues. On Sunday mornings is when they come out to do the majority of their policing. They will stop buses full of Vazahs about 5KM out of camp in hopes of catching someone without the proper paperwork. When that happens the official course of action is to take you down to the station and/or something that nobody is familiar with because what always happens is the ask for money. "Fines" range from 2000 to 10,000 AR quite typically but sometimes you get some folks that like to be creative and try to demand/intimidate/pry more out of you. It's a bit of a game really, only you don't have an AK.

The second type of police is the Gendarmarie. They are in between the military and the local police in that they are technically sort of like the RCMP I think. I've seen detachments all over Madagascar (or Tana anyway) and the are typically a little more prepared, preferring to rock brown/green fatigue type uniforms and carrying the same model of rusty pistol. I've been stopped by them the least and for the most part they have been pretty easy to deal with, though will try to find a reason to "fine" you nonetheless.

The third and final type of police officer is the local police. I'm honestly not quite sure what makes them police, who issues them authority, or if they are even police but when the man with the white shirts, blue hats, whistles, and odd looking mismatched very old pistols pull you over in downtown Toamasina traffic you stop. This particular day, these guys were most definitely looking to pad the beer fund but were left sorely disappointed when they found our paperwork in order. 20 sweaty minutes later (they want to make you sweat it out in hopes you'll pay them something) we were back on the way out of Toamasina.

Traffic began to thin out as we made our way through the center of the city and on to the North side and progress quickened. The roads in town are actually fairly good right now, as Ambatovy and the local government have worked together to repave a lot of the main strips over the years, and we were through town including the police check by about 845. Not too shabby.

The first 15 or 20 minutes that you ride North of Toamasina proper is kind of interesting. The town starts to progressively sprawl, as you ride further out you notice the building density drop, and drop. Side streets disappear into buildings lining the streets wall to wall, this slows down and drops further to more industrial type settings with walled in yards, etc dotting the road. Before you know it you're riding through beautiful greenery on a fairly decent 2 lane road (1 lane each way) and only the occasional traditional style hut / wooden building greets you.

Unfortunately, as I have gone over before, I am a horrible person and neglected to stop to take any photos on the way North. I was too engrossed in trying to absorb it all... and pass the massive bits of traffic that we'd catch up to without incident. More the former than the latter thankfully. Between the aforementioned moments of passing excitement mostly I was left gazing at stunning scenery left and right. It's good that I brought a closed face helmet from home as the number of bugs I'd swallow with my mouth hanging open all the time would be huge.

About a half hour out of Toamasina we ran into the 2nd of 5 police checks we would run into on our way North. The questions are always the same, where are you headed, where are you from, can I have your gloves, I like your shirt, can I have money? Smiles, nods, and a bit of pretending like you don't understand along with having the proper paperwork get you through nicely enough.

50KM North of town is when the roads started to get really interesting. The road work that I consider "good" is more like your typical mixed pavement gravel road. Sometimes you're hit with the most beautiful 2-3KM stretch of fresh blacktop which promptly turns to some gravel base, or has large pothole patches, etc. That is "good" road. This stuff we rode is not what most Canadians would consider road. It's fun, on a dirt bike, but in a car, or a mini-bus with 19 other passengers (yea) it could be compared to some sort of pre-Victorian torture. I can't even begin to imagine.

I guess the best way to put it is the road is still a road, but chunks of it are just missing. By missing, I mean that the pavement/gravel you ride on all of the sudden for the entire width of the road drops about a foot or two and turns to sand. Occasionally there are piles of very loose large gravel dotting the road, presumably for future repair plans or perhaps forgotten by a previous regime like most of the infrastructure in the country, which is not so fun to ride through on knobbly tires. For the most part though, the road-bits-that-werent-really-road-bits were great fun on the dirt bike's and did an excellent job of breaking up the monotony of a long pavement ride on a 250.

Eventually, the beautiful greenery gave way and we found the coastline. And what a coastline! You cross a number of rivers on the road North, on steel or concrete bridges with mostly complete surfaces, and all the bodies of water are quite green and gorgeous. But, at one point the road suddenly turns East and you emerge from the trees to be greeted by a stunning set of river deltas, white sand beaches, and genuinely beautiful but treacherous looking bays, islands, and peninsula type things. All quite ruggedly, astonishingly, staggeringly beautiful. I don't know how many times during the ride I said "whoa" out loud to no one in particular but it numbers in the high teens I'm sure.

Unfortunately, as mentioned earlier I neglected to stop and take many pictures. But I did snap a few on the way back that you'll see further down. Further up the road you unfortunately leave the coast for the forest again but are very quickly greeted by Foule Pointe. It sort of evolves out of the bushes just as Toamasina faded into them on our way out. You notice that you're nearing a town proper as the sparse huts and buildings give way to more well constructed buildings. Or at least buildings that look to be built of reasonably straight lumber and other building materials. You know you've really struck populace when you see the occasional concrete mega palace in amongst the rest.

So it was that we found ourselves stopped on the main road through Foule Pointe. This is where Ian said, "You know, the beach here is nice but it is really busy, about 20 minutes up the road there is this beautiful place called Mahambo that is a lot quieter and a lot nic...", before he could finish I said, "I'm in, lets move." Our other riding companion Nolan, being the type of guy that is too thoughtful to disagree, nodded and we were off.

The road between Foule Pointe and Mahambo was shocking to say the least. Shockingly good. It wasn't smooth blacktop but it was new rougher asphalt aggregate for the entire 20KM. Twisty, fun, and fast, we were making great time... Until we saw the check stop ahead. This time they were quite serious even going so far as to have a rusty spike belt laid out over half the road, and stopping nearly every vehicle going North or South. They were happy to see us....

We pulled over, produced our papers, and waited while they went through it. The guy I was talking to was quite chipper and we chatted a bit in my broken Frenglish and his broken English about how beautiful I thought his country was. Ahead of me, Nolan was having the same luck with his papers quickly handed back to him with a nod. At the front of the group however there was a problem. "Oh no!" Ian was saying with a purposefully theatrical exaggerated tone and a huge grin, "Expired? I had no idea!" he said dismounting the bike and following the solder who had his paperwork.

Unluckily and unfortunately unknown to Ian, his insurance papers (good for nothing more than the paper they are written on in this country) had "expired" two days prior. They had found an angle, and they were going to work it. The exaggerated "oh no" was just Ian's experience dealing with these guys speaking. The show was only starting, but he was ahead considerably already. Regardless, Nolan and I pulled ahead and dismounted to enjoy the show.

At the time I remember being distinctly concerned with the fact that we were some 90KM and ~2.5 hours North of Tomasina with 1/3 of our party immobile. It was a little weird trying to figure out contingency plans for where/what we were going to do next. Having nothing else to do, Nolan and I put our best stupid vazah smiles on and sat around chit chatting while watching Ian exchange friendly banter back and forth with the 5 soldiers trying to explain to him he needed to pay 50,000 AR  (~$25USD) for his infraction.

I had a bit of a brainfart at that point. It was time, I thought, to take some photos! What better way to pass the time? Genius.

Nolan and his moustache enjoying the theatrics.

Ian, the tetanus spike belt, and the police hut.

The other way down the road.

A half hour later, a lot of laughing on one side, and an ask from the local officers for some beer, we had a solution worked out and were on the way. What a learning experience it had been. A line I will never forget is Nolan asking Ian who is mid theatre if he was OK and if he needed us to call anyone or anything, only for Ian to reply without missing a beat in as nonchalant a voice as possible "No worries, they are just trying to figure a way of extorting more money out of me." I can imagine how strange that might sound to you reading it, but it was a welcome relief and a big learning moment.

Another 10 minutes up the road brought us to Mahambo. Which turned out to be a road sign that if you blinked you'd miss that directed you off the road down a dirt road through the main "town". Huts, wooden buildings, and concrete houses lined the main road as we wound our way through the tree-shaded road. At a fork up ahead Ian had stopped to wait for us to explain our options. He told of us some place called the Vanilla Hotel that supposedly had decent food and drink and wasn't too expensive, but then mentioned another place called the Pirouge that was a bit pricer but had an awesome private beach.

Fifteen minutes later we were sitting around a table, under a palm umbrella shade, on the edge of a beautiful white sand beach with a beer in hand. To say the place was stunning would not be doing it enough credit, I will let the pictures below do the talking.

Ian and his moustache enjoying the manliest drink ever from our hut.

View from the right of the hut.

View from the left.

10 feet out and to the right.. Seriously. How's the snow?

Main building, with our hut on the right.

Moustache selfie. The camera adds 20 lbs... Honest. :)

Unmoustacheobstructed beach view to the left of the hut.

So yea.. No words indeed. Simply gorgeous. We enjoyed a buffet lunch of rice and veg, beer, poached squid (so tasty, but so regrettable later that evening), and some chicken brochette. After lunch the guys went for a swim as they were smart enough to remember their bathing suits, and I stayed with the stuff at the table and had a quick zen. I'd brought headphones and water so enjoyed some relaxing music and about 12L of much needed water.

The gents came back from their swim and delivered the bad news. We only had about another hour before we had to saddle up and head back or we'd risk having to ride the roads in the dark. Not a good idea. They graciously agreed to hang out with the stuff and I plopped in my headphones, chucked on some Explosions in the Sky (awesome band, seriously, listen to the song first Breathe After a Coma, it was what I was rocking) and went for a stroll down the beach to contemplate this non-reality.

As I walked down the beach I thought of all kinds of stuff. The immediate reality of being here, on the Indian ocean, 15,000KM from Lisa and everyone else I love and care about set in rather quickly. But rather than consider the downside, I focused on the upside of the perspective it granted me on what is actually important in life. Thinking of home, how lucky I am to be able to experience this, and continuing to wander mouth open gaping at the scenery I walked to the end of the beach and snapped a a few shots.

Seriously, probably my favorite picture I've ever captured... and on my bloody iPhone. Ugh.

Boat in sand.

Looking back towards the hotel area.

A shot onto the waves breaking on the point in the distance.

Boat shot.

Panorama. Click me for full size.

Other side of the panorama. Same drill. Mom - this is the part you ask Dad for help. :)

Contemplating my incredible luck. 

Further NorthWest on the beach.

Shadow shot! OOO, ARTSY!

Feet! No shorts, no problem! Roll up totally awesome Costco jeans!

I headed back to join the guys, with some reluctance, not because I didn't want to chat with them, but because the walk had been so very excellent. The waves crashing softly against the mellow soundtrack in my head was making for perfection while I looked out over the horizon and dreamt of home. But, back to the hut I went, only to find Ian and Nolan had agreed another half hour was best. That way we could all put in some beach seat time. No argument there!

My beach umbrella

I moustache you a question. 

Ian enjoying the beach.

Feet!

While enjoying the beautiful canvas beach chair was something I felt could go on for the remainder of the daylight unfortunately, reality was catching up and it was time to head out. We briefly discussed a strategy of all simultaneously calling in sick the next day but decided when the three of us who went on a ride all neglected to show up for breakfast with our bosses they'd probably figure it out.... Damn.

Quick group shot. Nolan, Ian, Me, Nolan's Moustache, Ian's Moustache, My Moustache

So a quick group shot on the beach and back on the road. What an afternoon!

The drive back was pretty uneventful thankfully. The police were quite happy to wave us through having already attempted to fleece us and seeing no further opportunity. We made it to Foule Pointe quite quickly where we decided to stop for gas. That turned out to be another totally interesting adventure, unluck anything I've ever personally experienced before.

As we're riding through Foule Pointe, Ian stops ahead at a road side stand to ask the lady if she sells gasoline. Perplexed I asked him how she could possibly have gas. He explained that the majority of small towns sell gas in 1L water bottles for just that reason as there aren't really many gas stations outside the main cities like Toamasina. That said, the woman told us in French that there was a Jovenna up the road, so off we went.

I remember thinking as we headed South out of Foule Pointe that it was odd that I hadn't seen the gas station on the way into town, but I chalked it up to my excited touristy eyes on the way in and started looking out for fuel. Ahead on the right was an old concrete two storyish building. I say storyish because it looks like the original building was only one story but someone at some point pasted a second story on, laying the concrete with the bristles of a large push broom I can only assume. Anyway, on the side of said building was a hand painted interpretation of the Jovenna logo. At least it was spelled right I guess?

Sure enough, under the logo that looked more like a child's painting, or something I would come up with if someone told me to paint a copy of the Shell logo, there was a family owned "gas station". I use quotes not just because I enjoy abusing punctuation but because what I'm calling a gas station is the nightmare of every OHSA everywhere. It was a concrete shack probably 20 ft by 20ft with a single doorway and a 4x4 window barred shut with wood / steel poles. Inside, was a family complete with small children playing on the gas and oil soaked floor, and two open barrels of gasoline sitting on stands. At the bottom of each barrel was a spout, a bucket with a plastic screen on top, and empty one 1L water bottles.

Ian told the very happy to see us totally not stoned on gas fumes lady tending the pump? tank? whatever, that we each wanted 1L. The magical process that followed was quite efficient but also terrifying. From the spout she drew what she thought was 3L, poured into the 1L containers through a funnel until they were full, and then brought a funnel/filter contraption over to our tanks to ensure what we got was reasonably clean gas. I was fascinated and fully engrossed in the process, so much so that I only noticed at the end the efficiency of the bottle recycling going on. You see, plastic water bottles, gasoline, and sun don't really work well long term for the plastic bottle. The bottles tend to shrink a bit, shrivel, and turn yellow brown. At that point you would think that they would throw them away, burn them, use them for old oil, etc... But no! No sir! Why would you do something as foolish as that when you have two toddlers playing in the sand out front that need TOYS? Yeah. Toys. Thoroughly horrified, and wondering how it was one could communicate just how ... wrong ... it was for them to be letting that happen I remembered it was time to leave.

I think we paid $2 for that L of gasoline, but to escape the absolute terror of not being able to effectively communicate the dangers to the point that I would've likely only offended the hard working folk I'd of paid $200.

Back out on the road the miles melted by as traffic was light and the three of us had settled into a good rhythm. As we neared the first of the bridges I stopped to snap a few shots when traffic allowed.

Pretty river with ocean in distance.

Other side of river.

Zoomed in shot of river / ocean complete with tetanus rails.

Another river.

Nolan and I laughing gleefully and Ian's saddle soreness and sweaty ass.

Afternoon sun over the river.

Kids playing on the river on a raft.

Ian, looking very contemplativey. (It's a word)

Last shot back up the road to Mahambo.

Passing over the last bridge before Tomasina proper we started to see signs of the big city again. A quick and uneventful ride through town and we found ourselves back at camp in nearly half the time it had taken us to get to Mahambo. Incredible how much time you can save when you don't have to stop 5 times for police "checks".

All in all - a hell of a way to spend a Sunday.

For those interested, you can check out the GPS log of the trip by clicking here.