Thoughts From A Foreign Capital

Disclaimer: There are not many original photos in this edition because I haven't wanted to attract too much attention to myself by whipping out my camera on ever street corner. SORRY. Maybe when Antoine gets here or if I visit something touristy which calls for a camera.

Hello all,

I have been in Antananarivo now for two days and I am slowly getting my bearings. I have been tired, a little dazed, and very awe-struck since I arrived so you will all have to forgive me if this comes out a little muddled as I try to put this once-in-a-lifetime experience down on paper.

When we landed it was 23:00 and already dark. I have a thing about the way a place smells (as those of you who have read the newspaper article about rain, from which this blog actually got it's name, will already know) and so, despite being tired, nervous and cramped, as I stepped off the plane I was desperately excited to really experience my first moment of Madagascar as fully as I could.

The air way heavy and it felt thick, like Malta on those humid nights in September. That feeling seeped into the sound too- it was like everything was muffled, there but not there, kind of trapped in the stagnant air. The air tasted dusty and also a little ashy, I have since been told that Antananarivo has very high levels of pollution from cars which gets a little trapped in the city's basins. The tarmac was faded by the sun and a little cracked and the airport staff had open faces, I have thought since actually that many Malagasy seem to have an air of amused acceptance tabour them as they go about their daily business. All this gave me my first wave of the island but it was the smell- the dusky, sweet, charcoal smell, which really set it apart from anywhere else I have ever been. The smell was deep, like barbecue bricks and flames and then above it was a smell which made me smile and feel like a child. It took me a while to place it, but then it hit me like a wave- it smelled like those little doughnuts you get at funfairs, the ones they make in front of you and then dunk in sugar. Well Antananarivo at night smells like barbecue and doughnuts. At least it does to me.

The romanticising over my first shot of Madagascar was cut very short by several intensely stressful events ("What's this?" I hear you say "You? Christina Margaret Andrea Lejman stressed? Don't be ridiculous! I've never heard the like!"). I will not go into them because I am happy here and do not want to make it sound otherwise but picture this: You are a 24 year old Malteser who speaks what can only be describes as pigeon French, you are alone in a new country, you have no-one you know anywhere to be seen, no visa, no local currency and no idea what lies ahead. Then picture you (as me) proceeding through the following stages- you join a que (if it can be called that) to obtain your VISA and are given very funny looks by everyone until a senior person comes out and tries to explain (you think) that no they do not issue one-year VISAs at the airport and why didn't you go to your local Madagascan embassy before you arrived (with no-one seeming to understand that neither the UK not the mediterranean rock have a Madagascan embassy and neither does Madagascar have a UK or Malta embassy either). Having finally procured a one month VISA and instructions to go to the Ministry to sort it out the next day you then go to the luggage carrousel, which has been turning since you joined the VISA que, and stand there for nearly 40 minutes, convinced that your luggage is in Paris, or somewhere between there and here, or on someone else's trolley being wheeled out the door. Having FINALLY spotted my giant pink suitcase AND 65 litre backpack and grabbed my daypack hand luggage I think about all the journeys between here and my final destination I am going to have to struggle through with this load. Having spotted the taxi driver the hotel sent with my name on a paper (BEST IDEA EVER) he takes me to a weird dark building with shadowy figures prowling nearby at which point I begin to choke on my own heart beat. This turns out to be a lovely little Beureu-de-change... silly me.

Artwork from the airport

The drive to the hotel was terrifying. I am sure if I repeated it I would be charmed and delighted, but at 1am after 10 hours of travelling it was just horrid. The driving is bad. Like Malta bad. There are NO street lights and far too many big stray dogs who run out of the darkness. There is the glow of the cooking fires (the source of the BBQ smell) where the shadows of people are crouched on the side of the road cooking or talking and the road seemed to disappear ahead in the dark. The huge imposing American embassy on the outskirts of town looks like a prison (which is what I thought it was) and when we turned off the road into what looked to be a shanty town I clutched at my St Christopher and thought about pronoia.

Ofcourse when we arrived at the hotel (Sakamanga for those of you who are dedicated enough to google it) it was wonderful and a Skype with the family, a good nights sleep and a little sunshine can change your outlook on anything. Especially when that anything is a vibrant, colourful, diverse capital city like the one I am fortunate enough to find myself in.

The hotel logo is a blue cat. I think because 'sake' means blue in Malagasy and 'manga' means cat but my French cannot be relied on to any degree so that could be a huge lie.

On Wednesday I woke up late and spent some time sorting myself out in the room and had lunch downstairs in the courtyard. Following this I took a taxi to the Ministries which was totally fruitless because a) Most people had taken the fact that Thursday was a public holiday to skive off Wed afternoon and Friday too and b) none really seemed to know how to help me and even if they did I probably wouldn't have understood them anyway. Although my lovely taxi driver from the night before did come in with me to try and help me translate and make progress. However the excursion was worth it because the drive gave me my first real sight of Antananarivo in the daytime which came with my first speechless in the face of beauty moment when we crested one of Tana's many steep hills and came upon Lake Anosy. Like a mirage in the desert of urban poverty and pollution the lake is bordered all along its edge by giant Jacaranda trees which are not green, yellow, orange or brown as you might expect but BRIGHT LAVENDER PURPLE. Seriously. Google it. And against Tana's red brick and orange dusty background they jump out at you like cartoon drawings. In the centre of the lake rises a monument with a golden statue on top and beyond it a steep incline draws your eye up to the huge colonial columns of the palace, which sits upon the hill, towering over the corrugated iron roofs which flank it, like a queen looking over her queendom.

Jacaranda tree (not my photo)

That was it for me. I might still be nervous and a little jumpy, I might still be lonely and a little tired but at that sight it was love. It was like when you first see Mdina in the distance, revealing itself through a summer haze, or the Independence monument in Phnom Penh, regal against a background of neon kites. It was like my first view of the Vang Vieng mountains in Laos which rise, impossibly steep and inaccessible and covered in that vibrant green shrubbery which makes them look like a painting. It might take me a while to settle in, and I might not be comfortable going out after dark alone, I might not be sure whether I am up to the work challenges ahead but after seeing that I know- I can live here. And now I do.

Lake Anosy (picture from google)