Antsiranana, Madagascar

Our first port of call after departing Port Louis, Mauritius was Antsiranana, Madagascar on March 4. We arranged with Larry’s cabinmate Marc to hire a van to take a group of us around the city. Marc knew a guy named Giovann (pronounced like Jovan) whom he had met on his last time in Antsiranana who could arrange our transportation.

It was a sweltering day as we gathered in the tender for the short trip to the port. Once we set foot on the northern tip of the world’s fourth largest island we walked down a phalanx of tour operators who were all trying to solicit our business. They were persistent, not taking no for an answer even when we informed them that we had arranged a tour with someone else. Marc found Giovann and negotiated a price for our group of six at 15€ each. As we walked through crowds of people trying to sell us vanilla beans, baobab carvings, blankets and other handicrafts suddenly Giovann got into an argument with someone and it looked–at least to Mark and me–that he was going to abscond with our money. He led us to a van and we got in, yet the pleas of children “Monsieur, baobab” didn’t end once we were inside. They pressed upon us to buy something by showing us their trinkets at the open windows until the van drove off.

We had a driver and a tour guide, Emilien. Marc told us that Emilien spoke some English but I ended up translating everything he said into English. I also translated questions into French that our American travel companions wanted to ask him. I enjoyed serving the role of interpreter–to a point–but it hindered my ability to enjoy the scenery as I didn’t like having to look back all the time to hear what people wanted to ask Emilien. I’d rather look out the window and be a tourist versus serve as their interpreter. It felt more like working than being on vacation.

Nosy Longo, a conical island in Andovobazaha Bay. Nosy is Malagasy for island.

Under the baobabs: Catherine, me, Mark, Marc and Michelle

Larry

A wide assortment of things to buy near the baobabs

A chameleon raced across the road and into the grass

We drove to Ramena Beach and all five of my travelling companions went for a swim while I was happy to stay on the beach with Emilien and our driver.

I am under the shade while Michelle relaxes on a beach towel. A vendor came by to try to sell us things. Marc is enjoying a scalp massage. Emilien is checking his phone behind me.

Of course a travelogue would not be complete without some examples of Malagasy signage:

“Log in 123.orange.mg or click on #123# / More and more connections / Buddy”

“Bill payment throughout Madagascar”

“You can’t throw garbage here”

One of the many tuk-tuks you see puttering around Antsiranana

Emilien asked me directly if he could have my bucket hat. I got it as a freebie from a Toronto Pride parade a few years ago, yet had never worn it until today. I packed it because I thought it would give my head more shade than a baseball cap. I had no attachment to the hat, yet because I knew that Emilien was a Muslim I didn’t want him to perhaps unknowingly wear a hat that advertised a vodka company. He had no problem with that (if in fact he intended to wear it himself) yet I didn’t bother explaining the rainbow Smirnoff logos or the hat’s provenance.

Emilien sans bucket hat

Mark and I walked around the streets of the city and stepped into a grocery store. I was interested in jars of baobab jam but neither of us bought anything. We ate our packed lunch in Place Foch, then walked to Le Grand Hôtel to meet our friends. One of Marc’s objectives for going to the hotel was to get free wifi. Our ship provided only two and a half hours of free wifi per passenger, and then charged usurious amounts for anything above that. Mark and I were quite fine with 150 minutes each over our twelve days onboard–I ended up with about forty unused minutes–yet I can imagine for some passengers, they might use 2½ hours of wifi each day. Marc’s quest in search of free wifi would be shared by many passengers with whom we shared these trips at port. Wouldn’t they be more interested in seeing the various ports of call? No…they were happier to bury their noses in their phones.

Our van dropped us off at the port and we waited for the tenders in the blazing heat. It was a sweltering day and we were given some relief as the ship’s crew passed around cold water and cool towels. For only 15€ we were grateful that Marc had arranged such a cheap getaway for us.