Sound like a disaster?  Although tired and jarred we had a really fantastic day.  It started with Joseph goofing with the workers hanging off the back and we spent many hours joking and laughing.  Their enthusiasm and joviality under these dire circumstances was contagious and we got to know each of the fellow passengers as we walked, talked and bumped along.  One man spoke a little English and translated for us as we showed our pictures and told ‘our story’  Everyone it seemed took turns telling their story, an art lost in the fast paced world of TV.  The five Muslim men, washed in streams and laid out prayer mats for call to prayer.  The women chatted and the girlfriend of the main ‘clown’ worker who had been sending me daggers all morning finally relaxed when I turned down her boyfriend’s offer to be his new girlfriend.  My second offer of the morning.  We all bumped along, thrown side to side in a writhing mass of humanity, eating fresh oranges from a woven basket and never missing a chance for a joke or laugh.  We crossed over a dozen small newish metal bridges and rode, with our truck, across an equal amount of one vehicle ferry crossings.  The smooth ride across various bodies of water always ended with one of the most challenging ascents up the ‘road’ from the ferry.  The landscape which we drove through was spectacular from thick wet jungle areas to high rolling golden hills, punctuated by rivers, inlets, cascades, lakes and a backdrop of either distant central mountains or the crashing surf below.  Villages were only near the ferry crossings or in the forested areas and we drove for hours and hours without seeing a soul.  Mostly sunny all afternoon the rain would spit down from occasional passing clouds.  Large pitcher plants, with little lids to shut out the rain, lined the roads, a few lone birds passed by and large butterflies like floating leaves caught the gentle breeze.  The only animal we saw was a furry little lemur on a rope at a thatched hut.  I guess everything else has been eaten long ago.  Long lines of villagers would come out to stare in amazement as this ghostly mirage rumbled by, probably the first in months as the rainy season drew to a close, by the calendar that is.  Stares of utter amazement told us white faces aren’t common around here as group after group pointed us out to their friends and family.  After we smiled, waved and greeted them with a friendly, “Salama”, we were caught up in a wonderful warm form of communication that only happens in these remote regions.  Such shy but welcoming villagers points out how it is always our responsibility to make the first friendly move.  Locals are often scared or intimidated by foreigners, especially those completely out of context like crammed into the back of a cargo truck with villagers, but we are always given a return gift of a large wide grinned smile and reply.  One finds what we look for in life.  And we sure have found the smile capitol of the Mozambique Sea, right here in Madagascar.

Arriving into our destination town turned out to be a gathering of thatched huts huddled together, with ducks enjoying the rain and wide eyes peering out from dark candle lit doorways.  We gave our business to the lady who was riding in the prized spot on our truck – the front seat – in fact the proprietress of the only hotel/restaurant in town.  Settled into our unique little bamboo hut we dug through the boxes unloaded from our truck and with the help of her friendly 17 year old son, figured a way to cook them up.  A sudden downpour found us running for cover, glowing coal fire in tow, but somehow, against all the odds, a hot plentiful curry was concocted, amid the delight of the many village women who helped me peel and chop.  “Me Sauta”.  Thank you!  We bought a papaya off their table and set off to bed.  Talking with a young French NGO worker earlier who taught the children how to grow vegetable gardens, we realized how lucky we were to be sitting all day on boxes of vegetables, in this land of meat or fish and rice meals.  We often buy vegetables and fruit when see them but we can only carry so much so we leave it up to chance. 

Off we went to bed, still moving in our sleep from our rough day on the road.  Knowing how bad the roads are and wondering if another truck could even get through the mud wake we had left behind, we decided to be on our cargo truck when it left the next morning, no matter what.  We were told that we were to sit in the front, (hooray!!) of another cargo truck headed to Ft Dauphin and said a warm goodbye amidst chattering and handshakes to our daring comrades from our truck.  One of the workers even tugged at Joseph’s pants amid a roar, just like he had teased all the vulnerable workers hanging off the back of our truck the previous day.  Crawling down a washed out incline we felt right at home and soon were speeding along, looking forward, not backwards at another 12 hours on the road.  All of a sudden a noise caused the driver, the father of our last polite but excellent driver, to pull over.  To our utter dismay 10 minutes later the axle was laying on road. 

Not looking good Joseph took one of his long walks ahead up the road and I hung out, waiting……………., something we are getting the hang of.  Actually if you don’t look at it as waiting, rather just part of the trip and observe what is going on around you, as if it was part of the itinerary: such as “Tuesday, Day #3, 2 hours interacting with locals in their native environment”, time passes without all the frustration and anxiety.  Besides what are the options?  These were the only 2 vehicles we had seen for days.  Apparently ‘missing us’, our first truck chugged up an hour later and everyone set about rolling up their sleeves and tackling the greasy mess before them.  It was proclaimed an hour later that it was broken and everyone would have to double up and pile into our truck from the previous day, which now was empty in the back, with nothing to sit on over the jarring road ahead. 

Complaints?  Not a one as everyone broke into laughter, moving bags, chickens, kids into the older truck.  We said goodbye to the father, who would have to wait with the truck for 5 to 7 days until his son’s truck returned with the part, maybe.  It is the ‘maybe factor’ that always plays a roll in these journeys.  Had we waited in the last town and this truck had broken down en route, we may still be there ‘waiting’.  We picked up Joseph about 5 miles up the road.  He had spent great time in the tiny thatched roof villages, been entertained by one of the local hand made ukulele type guitars, and watched as boys did back flips off the sand dunes.  There was a disagreement about sitting arrangements and I had a turn sitting up front while Joseph sat in the back and played snag the rice bag with Ali Barber, proud Muslim owner of 3 wives.  The scenery brightened our day, with one glorious vista after another.  It was a long, arduous, jarring trip and we arrived 15 hours later, barely making the last few river crossings (no bridges here) as the skies opened up and the water quickly rose up to the tops of the gargantuan tires.  Almost midnight we practically swam towards our hotel room, sore and totally exhausted, but smiling because we had just had a real ‘Mad escapade’.
The next morning we awoke to the sparkling sight of Ft. Dauphin.  The storm we had skirted for days broke into glorious and welcome sunshine.  What a reward!  Large green mountains met the 10 mile white sand beach and bright blue ocean lying before our balcony.  With the 6 large freighter ship wrecks strewn along the bay we realized that this remote port has rightfully earned it’s reputation as the home of rugged individuals.  Sunshine and light breeze welcomed us as we hung out in the lively market downtown and walked for miles along our beach. 

The only gap in our life is from missing family and friends, a void filled by our reunions, phone calls and emails.  We have discovered that if we start feeling overwhelmed, or are on the brink of exhaustion, all we have to do is take a break.  We clean up, get a good night’s sleep in a decent hotel and announce we will move on only when we feel like it.  Sometimes it takes 4-5 days, sometimes a week or two, but the longest we have ever stayed in one place was 2.5 months on Hainan Island in Southern China, avoiding cold weather up north.  After a longer stay somewhere we always look at each other, nod, and away we go, hitting the road once again.  It’s something in a person’s blood, the passion to discover what is over that next mountain or around the next bend.  We are never disappointed.

And so it goes…………………………………..Next month from the southern tip to the northern tip of Madagascar.  Until then lets look for the best in ourselves and those around us.  The dear folks of this friendly island remind us that no matter what happens there is a sunny side to everything.  Share a smile with those around you and watch your day improve.   It starts with us.  Again, thanks for sharing this website with friends.   Glad you stopped by.   Thanks for keeping in touch!   Take care!