Burnt Rubber Thong

 When we left our hero, he was marooned in the lap of luxury awaiting mechanical salvation. What next?

Well, in a nutshell, salvation was at hand - your classic African mechanic on a motorbike with a few wrenches & screwdrivers who rebuilt my starter and a new fridge shipped by taxi- brousse overnight from Tana. Ah, Africa!

And so this morning I headed out bright and early with my new best friend Gege (pronounced Jay-Jay for some reason), who’s going to be my guide for the next two days in the Tsaranoso Valkey. 

Again, some background (and keep the fucking groans to yourself): Gege is a 38 year old guide who lives in Ambalavao with his wife & two kids. His Dad was a teacher who sent him to private schools. Eventually he went into law, but had to stop because he couldn’t afford to bribe someone to pass his final exams. So now he’s a guide. Fucking Madagascar - my words, not his.Whatever. Hey, I’m doing my bit, right?

We had spent yesterday afternoon doing my errands - new SIM card (since I was told by everyone here that Airtel was  “the worst” and my lack of service was not due to an approaching cyclone but a shitty company), and another giant pile of money, since NOBODY here takes credit cards and foreign currency, and the largest note is worth around 7 bucks.

Just look at the size of this fucking pile! And I have to carry it around everywhere. You should see me walking away from a bank machine, my pockets bulging with bills.”Rob me! Rob me!” I may as well be shouting.

So after the obligatory one hour 20 km Drive From Hell, we arrived at Camp Catta.

THIS is what makes those fucking drives worthwhile.

No time to waste. We had to get our local guide and then conquer the massive Chameleon Peak.

See the chameleon on top? I didn’t either until it was pointed out about a hundred times.

No need to go into excruciating detail - and I do mean “excruciating”. 5 fucking hours in all, none of which was on anything you’d even consider calling a “trail”. I have never felt older in my entire life. And you know you’re not disguising your condition as well as you’d hoped when your companions keep stopping to ask if you’re okay.

“ Of course I am,” I would gasp feebly. “Why do you even ask?”

Agony notwithstanding, it was worth it. Some highlights:

Cattle rustlers’ skulls left on display. Say no more.

My first ring-tailed lemur. Ooooooooh!

My indefatigable guides, Gege & Lifave. Fuck you.

Some summit views. Nice, no?

Not one to rest on my laurels, I was up at 6:00 the next morning, ready to tackle Impossible Trek 2. A short drive to the neighbouring village, a quick chat with Retiro, our local guide, and off we went. No need to flog a dead horse. 

Did I make it? Yes, barely.

Was I completely exhausted and one small step from unconsciousness? Obviously.

Still…

Real live chameleon

The Tsaranoso Valley

Shoes off, boys.

Just look at this guy. I don’t know if you can actually see them in this photo, but he’s wearing those see-through plastic sandals your grandpa used to wear at the cottage. For fucks sake!

Worst of all, he climbs with his arms interlaced behind his back and at no point was he either sweating or even breathing hard.

Natural pool. Unfortunately a bit too cool for my fragile body. Not for Gege, who plunged right in.

Superfluous shots to prove it was worth the brutality

Shoes off again, lads.

So that’s it. A few hours on a respirator and a quick shot of morphine & I was good to go. An hour back to the highway, a fond farewell to Gege and a three hour drive later I was thankfully ensconced at the Isalo Ranch Lodge, where I plan to nurse my wounds for a day and then do Isalo National Park. Then it’s on to the coast, where hopefully there’s still a few buildings standing. I’ve been corresponding with a lodge there and since they haven’t replied with “Are you out of your fucking mind!” I’m still optimistic. We see.