A morning in Johannesburg

It is early afternoon and we are sitting by the pool waiting for the Joburg version of subway for lunch. 

It is Father's  Day at home and Harry has had many messages.  Connie's message will always be remembered "I love you Poppa, more than space".

We have managed to squeeze in a visit to Mandela's house and the Apartheid museum in the few spare hours this morning.

Talent, our uber driver (who charged a lot for the morning excursion - but we had no other way of getting there) took us along 4 lane (each way) motorways, past reasonably expensive houses encased in high walls and electric fences. He told us of the crime rate and started to get quite animated when he spoke of those still living in shanty towns (we were pleased when he  had run out of comments because both hands went back on the steering wheel).

Desmond Tutu's family home. We stopped at a high fence which ensures his privacy but no electric fence or barbed wire. We couldn't go in cos it is still his home. We recalled the time in UK when were visiting an old stately home. We were sitting on a wall watching Desmond Tutu arrive with his entourage. Lots of photo opportunities - at one point we were asked to move - apparently we ruined the photo. I have a feeling if he had known the Archbishop would have asked us to stay.

The township was relaxed and calm. Lots of empty restaurants waiting for lunch time customers. Stalls with colourful dresses and shirts and a few ornaments and jewelry. Some shanty town houses still remain on the borders - but many residents are in homes which reminded me of retirement villages (little sections with the houses all looking the same) or estates in the UK.

The home of the Mandelas is on a corner - across from the stalls and restaurants. We arrived at the same time as a big 40 seater bus. We rushed in, saw as much as we could before the guide with the booming voice let them free. Fortunately the guide spoke for a while - problem was we couldn't hear the videos well.  It was good to see that the little museum honoured both Nelson and Winnie in their fight for freedom.

Had a drive by the football stadium and a whirl wind tour of the apartheid museum. We really needed 3 times the 1 hour we had allotted. It was interesting to read about the roots of apartheid and the struggle for equality and freedom. The first exhibition was a walk highlighting the fact we are all equal. "We all walk", "we all think", "we all fight", "we all survive" and so on.  We came back to Talent snoozing in the car  - decided to wake him so we would have time for lunch. We ordered subway and was thinking of home and the 6 and 12 inch. Here we were offered 20 cm and 40 cm. Far too large for kiwi tums but rather yum and very fresh bread.  We sat under the trees by the pool and washed subway down with tea and smiled at th he reheating instructions for the sub.

Definitely now the hard travel begins.

I didn't set off the security alarms with my knees. There was extra security at the gate which created chaos. People avoided it by going to the loo or ignoring the long queue we had been told to stand in.  I wasn't allowed to keep the water I had bought after security. And now it is time to board. It's been a great holiday but it is time to go home.

The long trip home begins

Our travel agent had booked us a transfer to the airport through Intrepid. I am going to suggest to fellow travellers and the agent that this is not the way to go as we paid 4 times more than what the locals quoted. Still we had a large people mover which also accommodated Suzy and Tracey and their luggage. 

The driver took a rather different route to the airport. Down crowded market streets with traffic at a standstill. Occassionally he turned  down side streets, tooting his horn, foot down to make up time,  but it didn't seem to get us far. We were glad we had allowed nearly 3 hours rather than the recommended 1.5.

There was plenty of time to look at the market wares and people watch. Streets specialised in clothes, food, bikes and automobile parts.  Special scooter parks wedged in the bikes guarded by valets. 

Peddlers knocking on windows selling bunches of garlic, electronics, wallets, bicycle tires etc. We wondered how much business they get - perhaps more than we originally thought given the speed of the traffic.  

We did think we could invent drive by shopping. Sit in your car, slowly drive along and peddlers come to you.

Street full of cars, taxis, bikes, people powered carts, people movers, people carrying stuff on their heads. A busy place.

We think we followed the Pope trail cos he is coming soon to visit his catholic followers.

Roads are being improved - saw our second digger, concrete roller and lots of sweat and tears. Flags flying - both the Madagassy and we think the Vatican flag (gold and white). A  pope mobile has been built for the occasion.

Got to the airport with time to spare. It took ages to check in.  Once through it was more or less lunch time but the offerings were sparse. Do we settled on croissants and a bottle of water. The cafe refused to take local currency and insisted on euros or US $.

Back in Johannesburg the customs officers were welcoming.  I lost Harry somewhere between the toilets and the luggage carousel and spent a few minutes waiting for our driver. Lots of other drivers assured us he would turn up. He didn't disappoint.

The wind changed direction as we ate dinner. When we started to relax in our cabin there was a loud noise and shaking. We were close to the airport. I had trouble falling asleep due to these earthquake like symptoms but there must have been a curfew just after midnight or perhaps I was just too tired to care any more.

Our last days in Antananarivo

From Anakoa we took the return trip, boat, zebu cart, hair raising taxi drive to the airport.  Hand written boarding passes, full manual search of our bags-  intense. Harry lost his pen knife to the bin (forgot to put it in hold luggage). Signs saying not to put in hand luggage, ornaments (wood, stone or metal) would have been more useful before we surrendered our hold luggage. Funny though  once through security you could buy them from the souvenir shops.  Our flight was short, made longer by Intrepid booking us on a flight with two legs. Two orange juices and two packets of biscuits later we arrived back in Antananarivo. Back through the busy city to the same hotel on the hill. A shower and cup of tea and off we went for a walk down to the lake - we have got the negotiating around traffic sorted - at one point Harry said "we will just dive across the road here". Dinner at the hotel and an early night.

The next day started like very good day should. A late leisurely breakfast. Fruit, tea and and hard little bread things with jam ( far preferable to stale bread) and good conversation with those in the group who decided to stay on. Said goodbye to new kiwi friends Imelda and Geoffrey who head off to Capetown.  It occurred to me Intrepid tours don't go in for relaxing morning conversation over numerous  cups of tea.

So today we decided to go for a wander. Not entirely sure how far we would get - that would probably depend on the number of people trying to sell us things and how persistent they are.  In the afternoon we met a law student who walked with us for a while. I must admit my first reaction was "what does he want". That disappointed me - I have become suspicious of every stranger. What a sad way to live.

We wandered past more shops - one selling push chairs. We have seen lots of babies but no push chairs on these busy,  narrow, crowded, cobbled streets - so turnover for this novelty item must be a tad slow.

With only a hint of a map given to us by the hotel (black faint lines on a piece of paper and no street names) we stumbled across a market - obviously catering for tourists - higher prices, security guards, no pestering and luxury items (paintings, pottery, jewellery and linen). We found a table cloth and had a look at the photos commemorating independence.

The area we ventured into felt quite safe. We both had our phones attached to our trou and money in our security pockets but at no time did we feel threatened.

We found the Queens palace after stopping on some shady steps for an orange and biscuit. A bit pricey to get into as you had to pay for a guide as well. The palace burnt down in 1995 - they think due to arsonist activities by political activists. The chapel has been renovated but progress appears to be very slow "the expected date for finishing the renovations varies with every conversation".  Here we learnt you aren't allowed to point at the tomb of the king - it is a hard habit to get out of - but it is considered rude through out the country.

We then wandered down the hill to the presidential building. Keen to look at the architecture rather than the exhibits we paid some more money and were accompanied by an elderly gentleman. Inside I marveled over the dome atrium and wooden architraves while he tried to engage us in the paintings of  generations of royalty and gifts from Queen Victoria in faltering English.  We smiled and nodded as he often resorted to French.  We may have been giving inappropriate signals as later I sat on the balcony of the hotel and read up about the tyranny of some of the Queens. In particular  Queen Ranavolona I killed babies born on unlucky days and persecuted Christians by putting them head first into rice and pouring boiling water over them.  Her successors banned Christianity altogether and then reinstated it.

I have been very impressed with the linguistic skills of the Madagassy people. Many know their tribal dialect, official Madagassy learnt at school, French and a splattering of English.

On the way back I felt like a cool drink and a nibble and we wandered into the four star Carlton who refused to serve us.  The cafe didn't look closed but I am assuming it was - otherwise they may have been making a comment on our dress (dusty, hats and sunnies).

17000 steps  and we were back where we had started. We enjoyed the last of the sun on the balcony while nibbling on hot chips and listening to the bustle of the city. Met up with Remo, Sandrin, Suzy and Tracey at a Thai for dinner which apparently was empty last Saturday but full of Japanese tourists this evening. We left before the karaoke started.

Tulear Harbour and Anakoa

It was 4 am and we were sitting on the bus bleary eyed and wishing we were still in bed. I must admit it was lovely staring up at the night sky - no light pollution - southern cross and milky way clear and welcoming. 

The sun rose and we had a picnic of fruit, bread, jam and tea. We drove past more grass huts (leaning with the prevailing wind) before we arriving at Tulear Harbour.  By Madagascar standards this appeared to be a reasonably well off town ( a bit of international funding always helps). A port where a couple of large ships were moored and speed boats take tourists over to the white sands of Anakoa and the Mozambique Channel.  Carts pulled by zebu took us to the boats - my recommendation to Intrepid is that we should travel the couple of extra kilometers to the wharf and not support the zebu cart as a form of transport. They stumbled through the water, fighting their harnesses, whipped constantly by the drivers.  There loads were heavy and the carts looked as though they needed significant maintenance. On our return visit the cart Harry was in broke its axle - he was at the front so just a wet foot - another's camera went for a dip.

An hours boat ride woke us all up as we breathed in the salt air and looked at the unfamiliar surroundings - our first sighting of the Madagascar coastline (except from the plane). Pass fishing vessels with colourful sails, dug out canoes and outrigger canoes. Our hotel for the next two nights was in Anakao - we had been warned no running water (though some future proofing had been built into the cabins).  We were not expecting much. The rooms were spacious - ours the furthest away (again!!) and up quite a few steps. A little snake slid through the under growth and later on large lizards followed.  We were glad we had bought our torches given the state of the outside lighting. We were in luxury with buckets of hot water being brought twice a day to our door and the view from our balcony.

The next two days we swam, walked, ate, lazed around and watched the sun go down.

Living in a city we have grown up being quite safety conscious- we lock our doors- unless we have a senior moment. The rooms all had keys, but no locking mechanism. Our cabins were open to anyone- so we took to hiding our camera, phones and money in different places. When our room was serviced (which we didn't need but had no way of telling anyone) they found all our hiding places (under the bed and behind the curtains) and put out all our valuables on the bed and bedside cabinet- I guess they were worried we might forget them.

Our two walks were quite different. One took us towards the rock pools where we found small fish,  lots of shells and very few locals. The other towards the village and all the fishing boats. Here the locals hung table cloths and sarongs out for the tourist to buy. We were constantly approached by three or four people encouraging us to go up to the stalls.  They didn't like "no" and made noises that sounded quite rude in another language.

That brings me on to some reflections about tipping. Us kiwis aren't brought up to tip - it's mainly I think because we believe every one should be paid a fair wage. But we got in the hang of it. We kept a few notes in our zipped up pocket just for the occasion. Half way through the trip our guide told us don't tip less than 3000 ariary - oops. Anything less is offensive and often the notes are torn up by the recipient. They obviously haven't heard of the saying "look after the pennies and the pounds will look after you". On another day a guide asked for more (which he didn't get) while another was pleased as Punch with the same amount. Confusing - and adds to the cost of the holiday.