Andasibe/Mantadia is a forest in the highlands, and my next destination was on the east coast, Tamatave. Getting there mean descending from the central highland plateau to sea level at the coast.
And this road descends a lot. Packed out of the bungalow in no great hurry, stopping to admire a huge moth, called a Comet, that had landed on the frame of the bungalow beside mine. What a beautiful thing it was -- decorated with shiny spots, about the size of my two hands put together and having two very long trailing parts to its lower wing. It was something like you see in book illustrations but never in real life. And just sitting there on the bungalow.
I had no idea we were at such a high elevation, but as we left, we stayed high (and cool) for a while before starting a fairly precipitous descent. We went past several villages on the long way down, though the one thing I noticed that impressed me more than anything was a guy carrying two large containers of water up the steep side of a mountain. There was some construction on a microwave tower at the top of the mountain, and his job was apparently to get water to the men working up there. It looked like hard work.
When we got to sea level, we still went over several small mountains as we headed north toward the port of Tamatave through small towns with markets selling charcoal and fruit. Looked like lychees were in season. As always, there were great numbers of people walking along the road, though it seemed to me that these towns were much cleaner than the ones I’d seen in the south part of the country.
And the road followed a railroad track along most of the way. I’d read that the railroad had fallen into disrepair during one of Madagascar’s experiments with nationalizing industries, but I also heard another story here: that some in the government had invested in trucking and subsequently closed the railroad as a way to boost their new business. I wouldn’t totally discount that later theory, either. In any case, with petroleum prices on the upswing, the railroad is coming back a little, especially this segment. Tamatave is the major port of entry in Madagascar for sea cargo, and it would make sense to send goods to Tana by train instead of having inefficient trucks lumber up this steep couple of hundred miles of narrow road.
We got to Tamatave shortly after lunch in blazing heat, and Solofo took me to a very inexpensive hotel, apparently run by some of his family, just on the edge of town. Mine was a little stand-alone cottage in a compound of cottages, and I almost had the sense of being in the family rather than in a hotel. Even though it was nice, I wasn’t super happy in it because it was pretty far from the center of town, and workers were building another cottage just next door. And there was the privacy issue that you’d expect from being in such a communal situation; it annoyed my introvert, solitaire nature a little to be under the constant surveillance of the kids of the South African workers living there. Turns out, these workers were the same ones doing the microwave tower we’d passed, and the hotel compound was also full of microwave tower parts. In any case, I decided to stay there the night though I didn’t like that I could only get out and do anything if Solofo was around because I had to have the car. It was, however, really cheap.
From the hotel, we headed into town to get some lunch. Solofo suggested a restaurant on the beach, so we drove to the end of town, navigating streets packed with rickshaws, bikes, pedestrians and a few cars. And trucks. We got to Tamatave’s beachfront and settled under a big, thatched roof to have lunch and a cold drink and to watch the cranes at the dock unloading cargo. We were there awhile, the service being typically slow, but it was surprising how much cooler it was under the roof than out in sun.
After we finished lunch, we drove back to the hotel, and I dug out my books to look for a hotel closer into town; I wanted more privacy, and I didn’t like the idea of having to have Solofo around every time I wanted to do anything. I ID’d the tourist hotel part of town, laid out a plan for the afternoon, and took a nap.
After nap time, we drove into town so I could check out a couple of hotels and see what was there. This little part of old Tamatave was cool with big trees; lots of sagging, mildewed buildings with old architectural touches; and some small shops and cafes with character. The whole area was only two blocks, but that was something, and I liked the feeling. Unfortunately, all the hotels were full (as I’d been told at Andasibe) because of some UN agency conference. That was pretty disappointing, but I checked out a café, browsed a few stores and spent some time at an internet joint, all with Solofo in tow. I was finding the constant company trying, so I decided to do a little more visiting tomorrow and to then head back to Andasibe to sleep tomorrow night. And that way, the final leg of the trip back to Tana would only be a half day.
So I posted a few blog entries and went for a beer in the cooling evening. I’m finding I don’t have a big appetite here; I don’t know if it’s the combination of fatigue and heat or just having interesting things to do other than eat, but there are meal times when I just don’t want to eat. This was one such evening, so Solofo and I headed back to the area where we’d had lunch. Just next door was sort of nightclub, and we went in to have a beer and sit near the ocean.
With the economy in tatters here, the sex industry is pretty conspicuous. Everywhere. I saw it in restaurants in Tana, in the artisan market in Tulear and here in the nicer area of Tamatave. It’s not hard to spot: particularly well-dressed women hanging around a park or bus stop or, in this case, somewhat over-the-hill, grey-headed white guys sitting at tables with very attractive younger women. And if you were a lonely guy, there was a good deal of attractive company hanging around outside, too. I’m guessing these middle-aged guys were here for the conference.
We sat outside in the back by the ocean, and I had an order of fries and a beer and listened to the jazz sax player up under the roof improvise in a Kenny G-ish way. It wasn’t a bad way to spend an hour or so, fresh fries and a big bottle of the very tasty THB (Three Horses Beer). Then back to the commune.
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