Madagascar, a great and exciting red island in the Indian Ocean, looks back to Africa for not feeling entirely African, surrounded by a warm sea that caresses its endless white sandy shores. In the center of the island, more than 1.500 meters, is its chaotic capital, Antananarivo. Reached from the coast is more than 15 hours away jumping up in a Hummer. The most practical is to arrive by plane.
The first weeks, the city seemed the most chaotic and smelly place on the planet. Until I began to understand their disorder. With time, We got on very well. When I arrived there was a single light, still without having. The center had traces of its glorious past in the era of colonization, but that just had two buildings and presidential palace, current residence of the President.
The floor and walls of the stores were dirty and children, barefoot, scurrying back and forth all the time to ask
Was crossed by a large and dusty one-street about two miles long, not very originally named Avenue of Independence. This avenue was born of the elegant old train station, inoperative since 1965. The station building still kept beautiful and on Sundays rode around a gemstone market: Ruby, Sapphires, aquamarine, amethysts, tourmalines and citrines were exposed glistening in the sunlight aplacante . To the left was the cultural center Albert Camus, in memory of the French writer, where you could see ballets high quality, exhibitions and other cultural events.
Along this avenue were concentrated most shops where locals buy. The owners of these small shops were always of Indian origin. The Indians from all over Africa are very greedy traders. Most appliance stores had poor quality, bicycles, tricycles or household goods. There were also a couple of cafes, bakeries, ice cream with succulent Gallic style cakes and pastries French and Chinese who had nothing to envy you in the best "Patisserie" in the very France. These stores were below the arches, under some stone buildings and uninhabited apecto where one could walk and not be exposed to the oppressive heat of the sun. The floor and walls were dirty and children, barefoot, scurrying back and forth all the time to ask.
The Sundays, local families brought their children there to enjoy the plastic buggies brought from somewhere in China
It was a very noisy, because the cars passing in both directions and, often, jam occurred. In the center of this bustling avenue hopeful name had a small garden, all very French style, bordecitos metal with a semi-circle to not go to keep off the grass, everyone knew and stepped. In a roundabout sort of had built the closest thing to a kart track with plastic cars toddler. The Sundays, local families brought their children there to enjoy the plastic buggies brought from somewhere in China. There was something domestic and universal at the same time in the way these poor families spent some time on Sunday afternoon. While walking through a city and chaotic Third World children and whirled in a very old plastic buggies, did any European family on a quiet Sunday afternoon any.
During the week the street was busy and entertaining. Not necessary to walk over 100 meters and had already approached a salesman offering his wares. The craftsmen and women were fascinating: camioncitos, Bikes, old car ... precisely carved wood in a beautiful. Women also loading strips and vanilla scented strips. Cones were, Jugs, cars ... with vanilla sticks twisted, giving off a sweet aroma and tempting. There were those who sold hand-painted paintings, huge dried and framed butterflies native, raffia dolls tiny, Table cloths embroidered bro, legacy of the French ladies wives of settlers and now perfected by the religious, and endless curiosities. Other, more ambitious, showed in their tiny hands and whispering stones: “Rubi, safire, Madamme aquamarine ..., bone quality, vien with me, good price ... ".
To the right of the great avenue was a maze of narrow streets and dirty with a coming and going of people and a monumental mess
He enjoyed these walks and was always buying things. I liked the game of bargaining and I think they also. One, suddenly, I took out my camera and started filming, happy posing for me, the elderly with their toothless smiles, proud to be the protagonists of my story for a second.
At first only the street walked up and down, but little by little I started venturing into the surrounding. To the right of the great avenue was a maze of narrow streets and dirty with a coming and going of people and a monumental mess. There pharmacies, shoe, stations, restaurants ... and as a 500 meters was the Patrice Laconte calle. Rose steeply in the oldest part of town, where there were some nice restaurants, a pair of trendy bars for foreigners and the street of stores, all run by wealthy Indian families. There was also the famous Hotel Colbert, an oasis of calm and elegance in the center of chaos, presidential palace and the beautiful. On the back could descend back to the Lago Itosy, surrounded by jacaranda, from which sprang spring flowers nicest I've seen, giving the lake a violet-colored magical.
Geography of the country's pride infinite opened by moving away from the bustling city
Then the city was giving way to expanding outside, crossed by a horrible filthy river where the children wash their clothes or even splashing. It was a depressing sight to see so much filth and misery. Of course, there was no sewer system, so that in the rainy season, December to March, the smelly river often overflowed and flooded many homes. Families had lived for months in water up to knee. Geography of the country's pride, with forests, plains, mountains, turbulent water rivers, clear skies and vast distances, infinite opened by moving away from the bustling city of Antananarivo.
Then I got used to the pungent smells and stale air markets. I stopped buying at the supermarket where the Europeans did and started to buy everything on the market, except for meat and fish. Roman carrying basket with handles, Pineapples, pumpkins, tomatoes, rice, turmeric, ginger, flour, cumin, nutmeg, bananas, guavas, coconuts, to wax candles, bulbs, cloves, pens, pieces of pure beeswax to clean the wood ... I liked the idea of buying products without packaging or plastic packages misleading and Europe. Everything was made directly from Cart. Cans are made with old original wall decorations, painted with the face of Clink or Obelix. With raffia bags are made from beautiful bags to, boxes, baskets, tablecloths…; with coconut shell, bowls, trimmings, cutlery; with the horn of zebu, original necklaces and earrings. All hand and a rudimentary. That really was a world ecological.
To go to the center had to cross roads of mud and used to see women talking and washing clothes in public laundries, giant piles where the soap bars rubbed against the fabric. The foam just went rolling down the little path and mixing with sand to form a thick liquid. What was all primitive. I thought of you talk about those women: From their men? From their sons? What other women?