Now that Sarah and I are back in Tana, waiting not-so-patiently for pictures to transfer from one device to another, the sun and sand of Morondava seem a very long time ago. We had the experience of running around a tourist spot before most of the tourists were actually there. Restaurants and hotels were empty, and there were only a few pale bodies on the beach (mine included - no, that's not a beached beluga).
One adventure was searching out a vehicle in which to play in the water. If there's an ocean, there must be kayaks, right? In a land where the boats are hand carved and wooden, not so much. Our quest took us from one place to another, asking for kayaks and getting blank looks. Eventually we followed a faded poster to a certain beach-front establishment, and after much hemming and hawing, they produced a pair of plastic, sit-on-top kayaks from under a palm tree somewhere. Kayaking is not a high-demand sport around here.
We shoved off from the beach and paddled around in the shelter of a little sandbar, getting confused looks and bemused smiles from natives on land and in the water. Their looks said "What's wrong with your pirogue? It's plastic and flat, and you're girls!" It's pretty rare to see women sailing or paddling the wooden canoes. Well, if they're going to stare, we might as well give them something really exciting to look at.
That was all of four days ago. Sarah and I have errands to run in the big city before catching our ride to the airport and taking leave of this crazy country. She's headed for home and a summer in Rhode Island, naming off all the foods she's going to eat and people she's going to see, excited to get back to the states. I'm at the opposite end of the spectrum, saying goodbye to my wonderful sister and travelling companion, and striking out on my own. Our bodies are in the same place for now but our minds are going in opposite directions.
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