I no longer hate Paris

People are always raving about their love of Paris, but my time there in 2000 wasn’t that great. To be fair, we met under less-than-ideal circumstances: it was the end of my study abroad travels and I was exhausted with far too much luggage to schlep around, and could only speak English and German. In return, I found Paris to be rude, smelly, and over-hyped. I was content to keep my distance. But as long as the return flight included the option of a layover, I decided to give it another shot and gave myself an overnight stay there.

 

We landed at Charles de Gaulle in the morning, and I arrived at my hotel near the train station just as the room became available to drop off my things and freshen up. Before coming, I learned that the city had bike shares and I decided this would be the best way to explore the city anew. Armed with a tourist map, I meandered until I found a station with bikes available. The system is simple: pay a daily fee for unlimited rentals that are 30 minutes or less, and pay extra for any additional time. The time begins when you un-dock a bike, and ends when you dock it. You could un-dock another bike within minutes to begin another leg. This added a game to my sightseeing, as I had to do every segment in short sprints and leave enough time to find the check-in stations.

view of the Seine

It was perfect weather as I biked down to and along the Seine to my first stop: Saint Chapelle. I’d learned about its medieval stained glass windows years ago, and was excited to finally see them in person. They didn’t disappoint, with towering columns of vivid colors depicting biblical scenes.

the windows of Saint Chapelle

It was great to spend as much time there as I wanted before heading to the other church I wanted to visit: Notre Dame. The line to get in here was much longer, but it was also a good experience. Before leaving, I even had a chance to catch a bit of their evensong. 

Notre Dame

Jesus meeting two disciples on the road to Ammaus--I love the expressions on their faces

Rose window

intricate wrought iron on the main doors

Flying buttresses in the rear :)

After that, I wanted to take advantage of the weather and enjoy more biking time. After a loop around Notre Dame, I pedaled up to Luxembourg Palace to walk a bike through its lovely grounds. 

Enjoying the grounds at Luxembourg Palace

Next stop: the Louvre gardens, which also involved walking the bike for a bit. At last, I decided to imitate the Tour de France and bike up the Champs de Elysee, to the Arc de Triomphe. Until I was in the thick of it, I had no idea how long it was, or how much uphill was involved. 

We did it!

Frankly I felt like a little victory for me was in order by the time I made it, and I decided to go to the top of the Arc. Just one thing: you walk up a spiral staircase to the top. My legs were already a little tired before I started, and somewhere along the hundreds of steps I really questioned my sanity, but it was worth it when I eventually made it to the top to enjoy the exhibit in the rooms at the top and the views on the top at sunset. It started to sprinkle slightly while I was up there, but waiting it out meant that I got a prime view as the Eiffel tower lit up and started sparkling. Resistant as I was, I had to admit it was a beautiful sight.  

Memorial tokens of their fallen soldiers inside the top of the Arc de Triomphe

Dusk on top of the Arc

The Tower illuminates

I decided to pedal towards it, eventually going under it and through the park to a neighborhood, where I finally sat down to eat something. I was ready to bust out the limited “menu French” I’d acquired in Madagascar, but they beat me to it with a menu in English. Sitting for this long made me realize what I’d subjected my legs to over the course of the day, and I was grateful to realize the metro wasn’t far away for the return to my hotel. Still, climbing up the stairs to the platform was a slow, stiff walk. I concluded the day with a little research on the best bakeries near my hotel that would be open early enough for me to grab breakfast on my way to the airport.

View on my night ride

Lemur finale

My last day in Madagascar began with a trip to a lemur park about an hour outside of Tana. It’s a rescue facility for lemurs illegally captured as pets, and doubles as an educational facility to help the public appreciate these critters. I’d seen several species on my previous trip, but this place was unique for seeing species from all over the country in one place. Species that would never encounter each other in the wild played here as friends. True, it’s not the same as seeing them in the wild, but instead of hiking up steep hills for hours to glimpse them in the distance I simply strolled along the path for unobstructed views up close. The guide took me to their usual spots and they were all adorable, but the sifakas clearly enjoyed showing off for an audience.

Black and white ruffed lemur

Ring-tailed lemur

Bamboo lemur

Sifakas showing off

Malagasy pioneers

Back in Tana, I did a quick round of farewells at the office and shopping for gifts before heading back to the hotel for some quality pool and sauna time, including a massage to preemptively counter the hours I was about to spend on another flight. And to top it off: one last dinner at La Verangue with my favorite dessert. I returned to the hotel relaxed and full, grabbed my bags, and waited for the driver to arrive. And waited…and waited. After a week of him arriving before I was ready, this was rather unusual. But it wasn’t until about a half hour passed that I started to grow concerned. I didn’t have his cell phone number, and the number I did have for a colleague went unanswered. Finally, I asked the front desk to call a cab for me. I didn’t have enough cash to pay for this unexpected ride, but thankfully learned that the bank which accepts my ATM was nearby. And with that, the race was on. 

I didn’t know how long it would take to get to the airport or clear customs, but given how long I’d waited I was really concerned I’d miss my flight. To top it off, he had to stop and fill up his tank. Thankfully it was late enough at night the roads were clear, and to ease my nerves I was able to text home to ask for their joint prayers on my behalf. After what felt like an eternity, we arrived at the airport and a small miracle occurred. At the curb, a guy in uniform insisted on taking my bags and pushing them on the luggage cart. Normally I brush these guys off but I wasn’t fast enough. I still don’t understand how this happened, but he bypassed the endless lines I saw weaving through the airport and got me to the front to check my luggage, ensuring I’d make my flight. Once he deposited me and my bags there, he disappeared in the crowd. Angels come in all sizes and colors! 

It was such a relief when I made it to the gate just before boarding. As we walked across the tarmac to our plane, we had a final security check before we boarded at both ends. I was near the back of the plane and discovered how narrow it gets back there. While I scored with being in the row right behind the bathrooms (i.e. plenty of legroom), the seat was so narrow I barely fit into it, and my shoulder was in the window well! I can’t imagine how anyone larger than me would manage it, especially for 11 hours. But it was late, and thankfully the sleeping meds worked for most of the leg to Paris.

The long road back to Tana

As I carried my bags across the sand to the car, I took one last look at the bright stars above the rustling palm trees. We were doing the return drive in a single day and needed to leave well before sunrise. As we drove in the darkness, I glimpsed the silhouettes of baobabs and the occasional small fire in homes as people began their day. Given the darkness, I was surprised to see people already walking along the side of the road.

Sunrise, and the smoke of an early fire

Our return drive was much of the same scenery, and with nothing else to do I tried capturing some of our fellow commuters.

Roadside stand for breakfast

a young zebu herder

Is it still called carpooling if the vehicle looks like a golf cart?

People washing their laundry in the riverbed

How the locals get between towns: taxi brousse

Drying her laundry and crops

Traffic jam, Madagascar style

For some people, they keep their savings in zebu rather than banks

family tombs

We even saw a few covered wagons, reminding me of the pioneers and the Oregon Trail

We only saw rickshaws in a few of the villages, carrying people or cargo

In the areas with road damage, we repeatedly saw groups of children pretending to repair the road as cars approached and begging for money as compensation for their “work.” I didn’t blame them for trying, but what surprised me was how consistently this played out over such long distances that there’s no way the kids could have been in contact.

The roads were damaged in a recent cyclone; you can see why we had to slow down even on the straight parts

On my previous trip to Madagascar we’d seen some pretty nasty accidents, made even worse by the isolation lack of medical response. I was glad we hadn’t seen anything this trip, but shortly after commenting on that to the driver we passed a nasty accident involving one of those packed taxi brouses. I couldn’t bear to look closely, but the driver thought it could have resulted in a fatality. My prayers for road safety increased the closer we got to Tana. The narrow roads had been mostly empty all day, but in the afternoon commute it turned into a crowded and high-speed race as private cars, semis, and taxi brouses raced each other and attempted to pass zebu-pulled carts on winding roads. After a few close calls I couldn’t look ahead any longer, and prayed while looking anywhere but forward.

I was more than grateful when we safely arrived at our office, and celebrated my return to the hotel with some sauna time to stretch and a delicious dinner in the hotel’s restaurant.

Sunday in Morondava, and my Kayaking Misadventure

I knew the nearest LDS branch was several hours away, but as it was a Sunday I still wanted to find a Christian church to visit. After an early breakfast, I approached the front desk to ask about renting a bike as I’d seen one against a wall the day before. The town was flat and relatively small, and I looked forward to the possibility of exploring it using my favorite means of transportation—maybe even make it all the way back to the baobabs. The front desk staff spoke a little English, but apparently no one had asked to rent bikes from them before, because the next thing I knew they’d arranged for a pousse pousse (bicycle rickshaw). They thought I was crazy when I tried to explain I wanted to pedal myself, but when I confirmed that it wasn’t possible I asked them to have him take me to the nearest church. The winning denomination was Catholic, and unlike any mass I’d attended. The church was packed and I’d obviously missed most of the mass, but the music I did catch had a good beat and was accompanied by what sounded like an accordion (I never actually saw the instruments).

I walked back along the beach and saw more of the fishing in action, and this time the locals were insistent that I check out some of their catch.

local fishing boat

Pulling in the nets

bringing in the catch for the women to sort

Examining the catch

some of the variety of their catch

They use bits of old flip flops to help the edges of the net float

Back at the beach by the hotel, I found a secluded spot and enjoy a little scripture study on the sand, interrupted occasionally by sand crabs appearing to fight their neighbors. The water looked great and I decided to borrow the resort’s kayak to enjoy it, but when I asked at the front desk I was told they weren’t available until later that afternoon.

view across the channel

In the meantime, I retreated to the shade of my porch to enjoy the view and read a bit. It felt crazy to have a whole bungalow to myself but I wasn’t about to complain.

When kayak time arrived, the staff were kind enough to help me carry it to the water, which was much further than I’d remembered. I didn’t feel up to the ocean’s waves so I insisted on the channel, completely neglecting one of the basics of sailing: tide. My scripture reading several hours earlier had been at high tide, and as we arrived at the channel I saw just how low the water gets. Still, I was determined and set off to explore the mangroves and village across the way.

ready to cast off

This should've been my clue--they're walking because the water is too shallow for their boat

The water was even shallower than it looked, and it wasn’t long before the kayak got stuck in the mud, and I had to hop out to drag it to deeper water. Eventually I made it across the channel and made a friend for a moment before continuing on my way. 

across the channel

The channel was full of mud/sand bars, turning my planned voyage into a voyage/hike. It appeared the further inland I got the worse this became, so I soon decided to take my kayak for a walk across the mud to what appeared to be consistently deeper water on the other side of the channel. However, I managed to pick a soft spot of mud to try this stunt and sunk several inches into the mud with each step. It wasn’t as bad as Humphrey Bogart in “The African Queen” but it sure wasn’t what I had in mind! Trying not to think about Schistosomiasis as my bare feet sank into the mud, I slowly made my way towards the water. With the help of some other local kids, I eventually made it and finally started paddling in water deeper than a few inches to get back to where I started. The day ended a bit better with a final dip in the pool before packing.

My spot to watch the sunset

last sunset at Morondava

Sunset with the Baobabs

Just because I didn’t want to swim in the ocean anymore didn’t mean I wasn’t curious to explore its edge. I enjoyed a quick walk on the beach towards the center of town, seeing the locals bring in their catch and the logs bored into by small clams. Less enjoyable was having to reject the touts wanting to sell me tours or souvenirs. Back at the hotel I enjoyed a quick swim in the pool, but after my sunburn in Jordan I was paranoid about spending too much time in the sun.

exploring the beach

fishing boats near the resort

Drying off and covering up, I walked into town for a final ATM attempt. Once again I attracted the locals wanting to “be my friend” while seeing how much they could sell me. This had one benefit: I was led to an ATM that finally accepted my card! It was a relief to finally know I could pay my expenses and have money for food. The ATM was near the fish market, and while I’m not a big seafood person I was curious to see what that looked like on market day. The smell nearly overpowered me, but I was rewarded with interesting sights of the local seafood. I also saw the women sporting yellow powder on their faces, which I’m told is a ground root traditionally used as a sunscreen/beauty treatment. 

downtown Morondava--bicycle rickshaws are the preferred local transport

women selling the day's catch--note the yellow paste on their faces

inside the fish market

I still had a guy following me and it was past lunchtime, so on the walk back to the hotel I stopped at a restaurant mentioned in the guidebook in the hopes he’d leave. Lunch with a Rastafarian wasn’t something I’d planned on, but Rasta Jean was friendly, served decent food, and had a very chill place to eat. Most importantly, I was able to walk back to the hotel alone.

At last, it was time for the main event and the reason I was here: Alle de Baobab. While these trees are found elsewhere in the country and in Africa, there’s no place quite like this. The towering trees are hundreds of years old, preserved while the forest surrounding them was slowly converted to rice paddies, a practice that still threatens them today. The result: dozens of sentinels above the flat landscape with little to obstruct your view. In the dry season, these bare trees look even more bizarre, like someone had taken giant trees and shoved them into the ground roots-up. As we drove down the dirt road to the entrance, the driver explained that crime had risen in recent years, with bandits in this area being a particular problem after dark. And with that, he dropped me off at the entrance to walk the road alone. Once again, I discovered that this tour didn’t include what I’d expected, but this time it was because his car wasn’t up to the road conditions. Fair enough, but that was going to make things more difficult.

local boys outside the park

In some ways it was great to stroll down the road as slowly as I wanted, soaking in the sight and attempting to photograph it.

just inside the entrance--the box on the right is around a seedling

selfie with baobabs

But once I got it in my head to see a particular pair of trees, the race against the setting sun was on. I’d heard this area had a pair of baobabs that had wrapped themselves around each other over the centuries, earning the title “Baobab Amoureux,” but I had no idea how far it was to see them. I started jogging/shuffling down the road as the occasional 4WD full of tourists with expensive cameras zipped by in the opposite direction. Still enjoying the scenery, which was more captivating the later it got, I’d stop for the occasional photo and to catch my breath.

the only other tourists I saw were driving--in the opposite direction

racing the sun to capture the silhouettes

This race ended when I arrived at a roadside stand with some locals and a woman started yelling at me in Malagasy. I didn’t understand a word she said, but her angry tone and gestures conveyed that it was time for me to leave this area for my own safety before it got dark. I hesitated for a moment before heeding her advice, but then it hit me: I was probably the furthest tourist in on foot, the sun was setting soon, I was tired from the jogging to get there, and I had no idea how far I was from the entrance. That was helpful motivation as I commenced the jog back, and I was thankful when I eventually ran into a group of tourists who were also walking back. It turned out they were from Italy, and volunteering back in Tana through the Catholic church at a local school. They were so friendly, and I realized how much I’d missed talking to someone who spoke English and wasn’t trying to sell me something. It made the walk back pass quickly and I was sad to go our separate ways but grateful I’d met them.

walking back

couldn't get enough of these trees

walking back to the entrance

gasping for air, but safely back at the entrance

group shot with my new friends

It was dark by the time we arrived back in Morondava, and I asked to be dropped off at pizza place just down the street from the resort. The owner was Italian and had married a Malagasy; to get to your table you walked past their wood-burning oven and I was overwhelmed at the varieties of pizza on the menu. Once again, I lucked out and met some fellow tourists at dinner who spoke English; it was interesting to hear that they got to Morondava via canoe after spending three days on a river trip. It sounds like I would’ve enjoyed it, but not for that long, and it certainly put the long drive in perspective.

It was still early when I got back to the resort, so I opted for a little night swimming. It was incredible to have the pool to myself, with the wind rustling through the palm fronds and all the stars shining brightly overhead. I stayed in as long as I could before calling it a night, and was relieved that my room was bug-free. It wasn’t noise-free, however. Apparently my bungalow backed up against a cluster of local houses, and Saturday night= karaoke for these guys. Unfortunately what they lacked in talent they made up for in volume, but I will give them credit for variety. Sprinkled in with Malagasy tunes I heard Alicia Key’s “No One” and the French classic “Champs Elysées.” Eventually I had to call it a night but since they were still going strong, in popped the ear plugs.