The Tale of Ile Ste Marie ~ Getting Old...

Getting old is not the problem, it is part of life; and it is not what scares me the most. What scares me about getting old is not being able to protect the people I love because I am too weak, I am too tired, or in one short sentence, I am too old and slow. You guys are probably wondering why I am writing about getting old all of a sudden! Wonder no more and read my tale...

Valentine weekend, my husband and I decided to take a trip to ile Sainte-Marie, a little island located off the east coast of Madagascar, just to get away from Antananarivo, and to take my husband out of the office before the big move to the NEC (New Embassy Compound). We arrived early morning and decided to tour the tiny island. The hotel manager said that we could rent scooters. Great, we had not done this in ages. So, before we got on the road, we tested the scooters around the hotel yard Barnett decided that he is so out of practice that he was going to ride with me instead. You might not understand this, but my husband hates riding with anyone unless he is the driver, let alone having his wife drive him around on a scooter to boot. We took off with another couple, and the road going anywhere in this Island is in very poor condition. We drove, and drove, and drove, (well, I drove, and drove, and drove with Barnett sitting on the back of my scooter shouting, "Careful, potholes, careful people, careful slow down, careful, careful, and careful) zigzagging across narrow bridges, trying to avoid potholes, and we finally almost reached our destination, but we still had one major obstacle to overcome, a steep hill to climb to get to “Lookout Point.” I made Barnett get off the scooter and I proceeded to climb up, but I didn’t realize how steep it was, and the steady rain didn’t help either. Did I forget to mention the rain, turning dirt into slippery mud? I slid on a very large slimy round rock and proceeded to accelerate instead of breaking. I slammed into the rock wall, and fell in the small ditch, hit my thigh really hard and broke the fender of the scooter. Meanwhile, my husband seeing this from the bottom of the hill, charged to my aid, slid on those dreadful rocks and fell flat on his nose, bending my Prada eyeglasses, in his pocket, in the process. Thank God we didn’t have any broken bones but just two "old" people with very wounded pride. I ran down hill trying to help my husband, stopped midway, sat in the middle of the road and then started to laugh hysterically. There we were, both of us wet, tired and bruised. A Malagasy version of “Olga” and her children walking by, witnessed the whole pathetic situation and came to our rescue, while we were trying to pull the scooter out of the ditch to no avail. Both of us couldn’t get the scooter out, and she did it with no effort. Meanwhile, our friends, after not seeing us, came back for us again, sigh!!! At that point, we decided to forget about the Lookout Point to drive back “home,” with a stop on the way for a cold local beer. Barnett also decided to drive from then on... The next day we determined to explore the other side of the island instead, to the Bora village (a nice little hotel, serving seafood); then from there take a pirogue to the pirates’ cove, and pirates’ graveyard. As usual, when people in the island say, “It’s ok, the road is good,” one should never believe them. We took off again on a scooter, and again it was dirt roads full of potholes, slippery and wet. So, I decided to walk behind while Barnett was riding on his scooter for hours. When it was safe for me to get back on the scooter again we proceeded to drive, and drive and drive, trying to avoid potholes, we didn't bother looking at signs, and we drove past our destination. Finally we asked the only boy we found on the road for direction, and he said, “You passed it back there.” You don't really know in this country what back there really means. We came back, found the place and not our friends. Again, they were out looking for us. What a half day. The ordeal was not over yet. After lunch, we took a pirogue navigated by two teenagers, what were we thinking??? are we nuts??? Phew, we made it. No way I was not going to come back to the same road with the scooter, so paid the one and only guy with a 4W drive vehicle to haul the scooters back to the other side of the island; where we picked it up after visiting the pirates’ graveyard.



The third day, not only we were on an island; we rented a boat to take us to another “smaller” island with nothing to see but a lighthouse. Hey wait, did I say nothing to see!!! I found betel leaves and I was so excited. You don’t understand, these betel leaves only grew in Laos, Vietnam and Thailand, so I’d thought. I used to eat them with my grandmother. So, I harvested some, but of course; and while waiting for the boat to take us back to the main island, a wandering lemur came to play with me. He loves the betel leaves and I love the pictures we were able to take of him.

That's all folks, until next time!!!