This unforgettable journey commenced Thursday afternoon with a plan, something I should learn not to bother with. The plan included leaving that afternoon by taxi brusse (local bus transport), spend the night with my friend 4 hours south of us, and catch the next bus early the next morning for Tulear. As history repeats itself, I should have known better than to rely on this plan. Five p.m. we departed, only an hour and a half later than scheduled – not bad. While on the way, I received word from my friend we were staying with that there were no buses to Tulear the next morning but would have to wait until tomorrow evening. Having a slight understanding of Malagasy transportation system, I didn’t hold onto that disappointing news too strongly but calmly told myself to go with the flow.
My friend Anna met us at the taxi brusse station four hours later, by now almost 9pm. After a brief update on the transportation situation, Anna found out that the Director of Transportation of the region was leaving to Tulear the next morning on his family vacation and was looking for people to split the gas with. We jumped on the opportunity to not ride 14+ hrs in a bus; however this little luxury required us to depart at 3am per the director’s wishes. So off we went to Anna’s house to eat noodles, sleep on a twin bed, and enjoy the blessing of having a friend in a foreign city hooking us up with sweet deals.
Three a.m. arrived sooner than anyone wanted. We hustled to get our sleepy bodies out the door, brush our teeth and pee in the dark, and walk a couple of kilometers with luggage in blackness. We learned through this early morning jaunt that Mr Director was not a patient man calling us every 2mins to get our location update. We met our transportation hosts, settled in four to the back seat, two in the front, and about six in the truck bed lounging over luggage, chickens, and pots. Despite a five person vehicle carrying about 12 passengers, we had a better hook up than a taxi brusse.
And we were off, well until 6am that is when it is normal for Catholics to attend morning mass on Friday morning for thirty minutes in a random town while in route for family vacation. We took this opportunity to eat some bread and eggs and walk to the market, only to receive a phone call from Mr Director informing us the 30mins was over and he was ready to hit the road. The journey commenced again only then stopping another three hours later to drop off my friend Anna and eat an official breakfast.
Mr Director and his wife were very gracious giving us brief history lessons and pointing out things along the road that tourists should be interested in, which he kindly scolded me I slept through all the important parts. After a brief family roadside chat about 3 hours later in a random town, we were invited to eat lunch with them at Mr Director’s sister-in-law’s house. They treated us as one of the family. It is always a bit awkward accepting blessings from strangers and a great lesson in humility. We hit the road again only stopping once more along the way to buy some charcoal to add to the already overloaded truck bed. Despite all of the stops, we arrived in good time in the Ville du Soleil 12 hours later, however, the trip was not over.
Dee and I boarded a pusse pusse, man pulled cart, destination taxi brusse station for the final leg of the trip; unfortunately this bus was a real crap shoot. Poor Dee was stuck in the truck bed with about 25 other people, children, and chickens as I was up front sitting on a seat made for someone 5 feet tall, fumigated by the chain smoking chauffeur, and listening to a chatterbox passenger. About 6pm, 15hrs after the commencement of this epic trip, we arrived ! We collapsed. We ate. And we did nothing for 5 days. And then the trip home greeted us again.
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