Freud’s Folly

HE JUST NEVER LEARNED

That’s what I’m going to have engraved on my virtual tombstone - one I’ll probably have sooner rather than later if I continue ignoring every logical & rational thought that happens to wander through my brain.

I seriously considered simply glossing over this unfortunate incident or just bald-face lying, since it will undoubtedly cement my position in The Clueless Traveller Hall of Fame, but fair’s fair. 

According to Patrick, the affable and experienced  owner of my present hotel, my adventure was a classic combination of stupidity & dumb luck. 

Stupidity (the main ingredient in case you hadn’t already guessed): ignoring my inexperience & instead relying on some bad advice & information to head off  by myself. “SO dangerous! I would NEVER go there alone.” Good to know.

Luck: in making it out unharmed - or at all

What else is new? 

Here’s how the deal went down:

Early yesterday morning I headed out of Tulear, having accomplished all my mundane tasks, and brimming with confidence that within a couple of hours I’d be sitting on the deck of my luxurious stone bungalow, gazing at the sparkling sea, fruity welcome drink in hand. 

The first hour was great - smooth pavement all the way. Then the inevitable dirt road turnoff.

“Not a problem,” I thought to myself. “Been there, done that.”

All good, until I came over a rise and noticed that the road in front of me had disappeared under a lake. There was, however, a smaller road off to the right, so…

I couldn’t tell you how long this road wandered aimlessly through the bush, but long enough for me to start wondering if it was ever going to end. Just then - Voila! The main road.

“Well,” I said to myself, “that’s enough excitement for today.”

Oh foolish man!

A few minutes later, a village appeared.

“Ah, good. Civilization.”

Yes and no. Plenty of people, none of whom spoke French, and what looked like yet another impassable road. A spirited debate ensued, finally seemingly settled when everyone moved en masse to the road and started gathering stones, sticks and bamboo fronds and hurling them onto the offending section. Within minutes, it still looked mighty dodgy, but I felt I had to at least try after this Herculean group effort. Miraculously, I made it and everyone gathered around my truck - to celebrate I assumed. Go team go!

Nuh-uh. The ringleader stepped up to my window, stuck out his hand and, with a big smile (or perhaps smirk) said, ”Cadeaux, Monsieur.” 

Judging by the look on his face, “gift” may not have been the most accurate word. I may be dense, but I’m not that dense, and soon we were all basking in our newfound wealth and undying friendship.

Onward. Into a couple more villages, where my inquiries were met with either puzzled looks or two people pointing in two opposite directions, through sand and mud up to my axles, until…

A TRULY impassable lake obliterating the road, with not even a hint of a detour in sight. Words cannot express my profound and overwhelming sense of defeat, disbelief and depression as it dawned on me that I was going to have to go all the way back over the same territory it had just taken me two hours to cover and then try to find another route.

“Fuckity , fuck, fuck, fuck!” I howled.

“Boy!” you’re thinking,”That’s about as bad as it gets.”

Nope. Not even close.

As I dejectedly - and VERY carefully - turned around & headed back, the same thoughts were running through my semi-suicidal mind until I realized with a start that this wasn’t the same road I’d been on and was, in fact, a trail that had rapidly shrunken into an ox cart path. Google Maps didn’t seem to have any problem with this, and realistically what choice did I have? Before I knew it, I was thrashing  through giant cactus plants and overgrown bushes that were hammering against the side of the truck and flying onto the seats. I lost count of how many “paths” dead-ended with the computerized voice telling me,”In 200 metres, turn left,”

Worst case scenario? Don’t make me laugh.

NOW very strange and unsettling noises began to emanate from my supposedly indestructible vehicle. BAD noises. VERY BAD noises. The kind of noises you hear just before your car explodes, catches on fire or simply gives up the ghost.

“You ignorant twat!” my lizard brain was screaming at me. “ You’re going to fucking die out here in the middle of nowhere! How many times have I told you this would happen?”

I won’t keep you in suspense. I actually did make it back, saved at the last minute by a kindly, wizened,  little farmer whose yard I stumbled onto. I can only imagine what he must have thought as I pulled up, my eyes as big as saucers and undoubtedly with drool running down my chin, yelling,”Tulear! Tulear!”

He calmly walked me down the path, pointed out the correct fork and said, “Marumbo”, which I recognized as the name of the village I had passed through a hundred years ago. What the fuck must have been going through his mind?

Long story short, back through the village of my former triumph, where a local added insult to injury by trying to get me to pay him a toll to get by. One look at me and he turned and raised the bar. A wise decision.

And finally back to the highway, where I breathed a huge sigh of relief and swore (not for the first time & unfortunately probably not the last either)  NEVER to do anything that patently foolish ever again.

But here’s the kicker. When I reached the highway, I turned off the truck so I could get out, catch my breath and call my road trip guy. When I got back in the truck to drive back to Ifaty and turned the key - NOTHING. And I realized that if I had turned the truck off just once during all those stops and turnarounds I would have been absolutely stranded, probably for the foreseeable future. Sweet Jesus!

So that’s it. I wish I had taken some photos to embellish the narrative, but let’s just say I had other priorities.

Man, I really am too old for this shit. 

Courtesy of Sarah. Who knows you better than your own children?