Mystery Logs

Last night, I learned that our hotel was designed by Mr. Eiffel himself! Apparently it was built in the 1930’s but its history was forgotten so by the 1990’s, it had become a supermarket and apartments. It was only in the last few decades while being converted into a hotel that they learned the truth of its design, but it sure put the steel beams into perspective.

Either I had a touch of jetlag this afternoon, or I’m finding it increasingly difficult to stay alert and attentive during the presentations and breakout groups. The highlight was talking shop with my GIS colleagues during our breaks.

Swapping technical tips.

GIS group photo!

Afterward I went with one of my coworkers on a quick stroll to explore the area around the hotel. First stop: the Hotel Colbert, the other really nice hotel, to buy a few of their fancy chocolates. It’s probably a good thing that our hotel offered a sauna rather than a chocolate shop. Walking past the presidential palace, it was only a few blocks before we were in an area of locals shopping at a small night market. Locals would appear from behind the stalls by climbing narrow flights of stairs between the buildings that disappeared around corners. Our curiosity almost took us down them, but given recent safety concerns and the likelihood of getting lost, we thought the better of it. The “highlight” was seeing a man carrying a tray of the mystery triangular logs I’d seen that first afternoon. We’d seen them a few times since driving around town, and all of our attempts to describe them to our Malagasy colleagues and expats only produced confused looks on their faces. We tried to follow him to snap an inconspicuous photo, but didn’t really succeed on either count.

Mystery logs--what do these look like to you?

After the previous night’s indulgence, the team opted to dine in at the hotel, which also meant more time for the spa. This hadn’t been a stressful trip so far, but it still felt great to stretch and relax after sitting on long plane rides and in workshops all day.

When we finally emerged for dinner, I opted for regional fare. The hotel’s chef was from Mauritius, a small island east of Madagascar that was also settled by the French, and the menu offered noodles cooked in their style. The dish was a great choice for me, but I made a grave error with my beverage. What the menu called “limonade” was actually “Bonbon Anglais”. Despite the name, I don’t think it’s really the fault of the British that this overly-sweet and not-that-tasty soda is on the market. An unfortunate end to an otherwise great day.