And when a woman writes you every week, how can you say no? She wants random things, so I'll just do a bunch of quick things? I don't know. We'll see how it goes. Hopefully it will give you a better idea of my life.
I sleep inside a mosquito net every night (doctor's orders). It's really like a green canopy, and I'd like to think it gives me dreams that are forest related or something. I have no proof of this. My bed is a wooden frame with a handful of planks across and a foam mattress on top. My pillos are stuffed with tiny chunks of foam.
I have a one-roomed house (aka a cement box) attached to someone else's house. I love it. It has 2 doors and 4 windows. I also has a closetesque thing where I shower. Showering = a bucket of water and a hole in the ground where the water drains.
I do have a bike, however it is often broken so I leave it in another closetesque thing I don't use because my house is too big for how little I own (yes yes--one room is too big). Besides, I love walking (and why not, when you have time to kill and it's beautiful out and people are fiendly?). It's about 15 minutes to my school and 25 to the market (I live relatively far from things). Plus the fact that I walk provides my students with the opportunity to mimic the way I walk, which never fails to entertain me. I'll show you one day.
There are many many churches in my town (enough that no one really knows how many). madagascar is incredibly Christian--meaning they all (ALL) go to church at least once a week (which they call praying--as in "Do you pray?"). This does not, however, keep men from having mistresses or women from having babies in middle school. Funny how it works out like that. Honestly I think it has more to do with their value of family than anything else. Going to church together is a family tradition.
I have electricity, which means music and a fan. Unfortunately, it didn't work most of the time when it was especially hot. Meaning you had to dump cold water all over yourself before bed and hope you fell asleep before your body realized it was being tricked.
The school system is different here. Students receive lectures and are not used to games or groups or all those special activities we do. You would never realize Heads Up 7 Up is a complicated game if you didn't try teaching it to Malagasy students. Tragic. They have to wear these shirt thngs over their clothes. They raise the flag and sing the national anthem every Monday morning at the assembly--and then clean out the classrooms. They are tested twice each trimester. They talk to much but they are fun and my favorite part of work. I especially love embarassing them in front of each other (meaning anything from using them as an example for vocabulary like bride and groom to randomly singing Happy Birthday to someone). Note: I recently started a second job at the private school, and let me tell you--those kids are WAY better behaved. They also tend to giggle at the way I move and the noises I make (I think my other students are a bit more used to me now) and they seriously love singing camp songs (YES), perhaps because it often means I dance around in front of them while we sing (hahaha whatever don't judge). They love it so much they'll do their exercises super quickly so we can spend the rest of class singing. And they are not afraid to basically say, "Okay that new song SUCKS" (which unfortunately means we won't be doing one of my FAVORITES again--what do they have against short-necked buzzards?).
My furniture: the bed, 2 tables (one for work, one for food), 2 chairs, and a bookshelf. The kitchen table has a gas tank under it connected to 2 burners, dishes drying, and a water filter surrounded by bottles of water I've already cleaned. My bookshelf has kitchen stuff, music stuff, and most anything else I own. Including meds.
The stars are INCREDIBLE. And even better when I put my glasses on! I'd sleep under them all the time, but--you know--the Peace Corps has a thing against malaria or whatever, so . . . But I HAVE slept under them multiple times at the beach, and it's BEAUTIFUL. Especially after a midnight swim in an ocean glowing with those phosphorous algae things whatever I'm sure someone I know will know what they actually are. And a full moon? Yeah that's amazing too. Or when it's gold. It's a beautiful life here . . . Truly truly.
I love getting letters from you. No joke seriously and then people in my town think I'm all popular and loved and stuff (which means they should like me too, right?). PS Shin they stole something you sent AGAIN. Second time. It was the keychain? Flask thing? I don't even know. They don't usually take things from packages (never for me that I'm aware of), but if an envelope contains more than pieces of paper, they slice and steal. FYI.
Okay that's it. Any other questions? It's hard to know what you want to know when life here feels normal to me now. Remind me to tell you about the taxibrousses. Wait here's a little more.
My one piece of luggage (a hiking pack) sits in a corner behind my clothes than hang on a clothes line so they won't be eaten by the mice or termites or cockroaches (hey you never know with those little buggers). A cockroach just died on the floor as we speak actually. They die so often! I feel like I find their dead bodies as often as I see the real deal. Or the babies. They have a lot of babies. They tried having babies in one of my spices. I didn't like that. Especially since I didn't realize it at first, so I definitely was eating little larvae things. Yum yum! Protein, right? My windows open out and up and are held there by a stick wedged in there.
I'd give anything for a swimming pool and a playgroud (I've already designed the set-up). I love Mexican food. Avocados are only 200 Ariary these days! Aka 10 cents. Don't ask what percentage of my salary that is. I have a blue snowman stocking up that's from my mother. My windows have no screens but it'd help keep the night bugs out if I did.
Oops. The cockroach is alive afterall. Sneaky guy. I also own a broom. Much needed. I also have buckets. I burn the little garbage I have, collected in a small plastic bag that once contained dried beans, in all likelihood. Or potatoes. The fruit on the banana tree in the back is almost ripe. I have one umbrella that I basically only needed during the cyclone (rainy season? not in Mahabo). It is bright green with electric blue polka dots. Very happy. I bought it here.
Okay seriously I'm stopping now. If you're curious about other things let me know!
MISS YOU.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
Ummm
So I think after uploading all those pictures the internet decided to not post them after all? I'm not sure. I tried. I swear.
My Home :)
Pictures of my house for those of you interested. Note the swing in the doorway (they thought I was crazy), the blue hammock, the green mosquito net, and the cow eating in my backyard by the banana tree. The shack is my kabone.
A Market Experience
This is for those of you who wanted a better picture of my daily life.
To get an idea of what the market is like for me, imagine you are going to a state fair slash carnival. It is often the highlight of my day--the big event (which either speaks highly of the market or tells you just how boring my days are--or probably a little of both--ha).
A market experience for me starts the moment I walk out my door. On the road between home and the market, this exact conversation takes place approximately 15 times: "Hey!" "Hey!" "What's new?" "Nothing." "Going to the market?" "Yup." I don't know why they state the obvious. They know you're going to the market already because you have your basket--the basket everyone has, of varying sizes and colors, that is used exclusively for the market (and if you bring it anywhere else, you will be laughed at). Very environment friendly. It is plastic and woven. Mine is black and orange so I can feel like I'm trick or treating EVERYDAY. Only instead of getting candy I get tomatoes.
Note: Watch out for men on this walk. If you are alone or female or white or blonde or just if your name happens to be Bethany, they will stare at you, unabashedly check you out, try to shake your hand, make noises to get your attention, hit on you in French, ask you for private English lessons, and occasionally grope you. They might also throw a stick at you, but that was an accident. The goal is to not let their sliminess make you angry at the world in general. Fyi.
Also, be prepared to step aside for passing cows and cars.
The highlight of the walk is when little children ont he side of the roads somehow know your name and yell it in their cute little fashion ("Aia le Betanie!" for as long as they can see you). It is less cute when others ask you your name in French and you pretend not to understand them. "What? I don't speak French. French? No no no I'm not French. Ignore the white skin. Pretend I'm Malagasy."
By the time you get to town, you are rather hot--a combination of the fact that you're been walking forever, and it's just . . . really hot. Lucky for you, there are many options for juice at the market! My favorite is to walk up to the open windows selling juice? There, you can get tamarin, pineapple, grenadelle, and orange juice (which tastes suspiciously like Sunny Delight). You can also get milk juice, a pinkish whitish liquid I haven't quite figured out yet. You can also find cintronade (aka lemonade) inside coolers on the tables lining the market. It's not very special (water, sugar, lemon )--sometimes good sometimes just funny tasting water. It's main value is that it's COLD (a rarity indeed). I once had tamarin juice so cold it threw me for the rest of the day. Slush? In Mahabo?
Before actually shopping, you might also pick up a little snack. This will give you enough energy to walk home (it's amazing how the heat can eat up those calories!). Or maybe you're like me and eat the food as an excuse to have sakay (their version or salsa slash hot sauce). There is a wide variety of food to be found and almost all of it is FRIED (torture when your tummy hurts). No joke. Frying is a convenient way to cook on the side of the road. The main ingredients are four and sugar. Sometimes they throw in honey or coconut or put an entire banana in the middle to make it special. It's more expensive (aka 5 cents instead of . . . 2 and a half) if it has egg in it. In the morning, you can find a certain rice bread thing (aka my breakfast) and at night they bust out the big guns (aka they stuff meat in it all). Ironically, at noon, of all those foods, only one is salty instead of sweet (minus the occasional exceptions). This is what I get (remember that sakay goal). But mostly I get it because a sweet old man and his wife sell them. Sometimes they come find me to tell me they're ready and nice and hot. Sometimes they also give me an extra for no particular reason. You see, street food --more than anything--is all about your relationship with the vendors.
The same is true for the regular market shopping. You tend to buy the same things from the same people. Hopefully not from the stands covered in flies. Then they tell everyone you are their friend and are often when weighing those kilos and half kilos to earn your loyalty. They also ask why they haven't seen you in a while. They also give you an extra carrot or tomato sometimes. Honestly, it's kind of nice going to a grocery store that knows you and knows what you want. Note: EVERY time you buy rice (what you eat EVERY meal), they will be SHOCKED. And the ONE time per month you go for pasta, they will shake their heads and say, "She doesn't eat rice! Those Americans--they don't eat rice like the Malagasy." This is very frustrating.
Here is something you must put up with whenever you go to the market: The giant animal carcasses they're selling. You must deal with the smells, the flies, and the men who try to convince you to buy it even though you tell them time and again that you don't WANT that cow's face, thank you. PS The giant hunks of flesh are transported by throwing the dead body on top your your head no joke. Buying in bulk means taking a shower when you get home.
Details: When street food is too hot, they put it in newspaper or notebook paper. When you get juice, you drink out of the same cups everyone else uses that are then dunked in a bucket of water to clean them. A common sight is a woman with a basket on her head, another in her hand, and a live chicken in the other hand. You kill the chicken before supper, of course. It doesn't seem to mind being carried upside down, by its feet. I find that strange.
Add the walk home and you have my daily market trip!
To get an idea of what the market is like for me, imagine you are going to a state fair slash carnival. It is often the highlight of my day--the big event (which either speaks highly of the market or tells you just how boring my days are--or probably a little of both--ha).
A market experience for me starts the moment I walk out my door. On the road between home and the market, this exact conversation takes place approximately 15 times: "Hey!" "Hey!" "What's new?" "Nothing." "Going to the market?" "Yup." I don't know why they state the obvious. They know you're going to the market already because you have your basket--the basket everyone has, of varying sizes and colors, that is used exclusively for the market (and if you bring it anywhere else, you will be laughed at). Very environment friendly. It is plastic and woven. Mine is black and orange so I can feel like I'm trick or treating EVERYDAY. Only instead of getting candy I get tomatoes.
Note: Watch out for men on this walk. If you are alone or female or white or blonde or just if your name happens to be Bethany, they will stare at you, unabashedly check you out, try to shake your hand, make noises to get your attention, hit on you in French, ask you for private English lessons, and occasionally grope you. They might also throw a stick at you, but that was an accident. The goal is to not let their sliminess make you angry at the world in general. Fyi.
Also, be prepared to step aside for passing cows and cars.
The highlight of the walk is when little children ont he side of the roads somehow know your name and yell it in their cute little fashion ("Aia le Betanie!" for as long as they can see you). It is less cute when others ask you your name in French and you pretend not to understand them. "What? I don't speak French. French? No no no I'm not French. Ignore the white skin. Pretend I'm Malagasy."
By the time you get to town, you are rather hot--a combination of the fact that you're been walking forever, and it's just . . . really hot. Lucky for you, there are many options for juice at the market! My favorite is to walk up to the open windows selling juice? There, you can get tamarin, pineapple, grenadelle, and orange juice (which tastes suspiciously like Sunny Delight). You can also get milk juice, a pinkish whitish liquid I haven't quite figured out yet. You can also find cintronade (aka lemonade) inside coolers on the tables lining the market. It's not very special (water, sugar, lemon )--sometimes good sometimes just funny tasting water. It's main value is that it's COLD (a rarity indeed). I once had tamarin juice so cold it threw me for the rest of the day. Slush? In Mahabo?
Before actually shopping, you might also pick up a little snack. This will give you enough energy to walk home (it's amazing how the heat can eat up those calories!). Or maybe you're like me and eat the food as an excuse to have sakay (their version or salsa slash hot sauce). There is a wide variety of food to be found and almost all of it is FRIED (torture when your tummy hurts). No joke. Frying is a convenient way to cook on the side of the road. The main ingredients are four and sugar. Sometimes they throw in honey or coconut or put an entire banana in the middle to make it special. It's more expensive (aka 5 cents instead of . . . 2 and a half) if it has egg in it. In the morning, you can find a certain rice bread thing (aka my breakfast) and at night they bust out the big guns (aka they stuff meat in it all). Ironically, at noon, of all those foods, only one is salty instead of sweet (minus the occasional exceptions). This is what I get (remember that sakay goal). But mostly I get it because a sweet old man and his wife sell them. Sometimes they come find me to tell me they're ready and nice and hot. Sometimes they also give me an extra for no particular reason. You see, street food --more than anything--is all about your relationship with the vendors.
The same is true for the regular market shopping. You tend to buy the same things from the same people. Hopefully not from the stands covered in flies. Then they tell everyone you are their friend and are often when weighing those kilos and half kilos to earn your loyalty. They also ask why they haven't seen you in a while. They also give you an extra carrot or tomato sometimes. Honestly, it's kind of nice going to a grocery store that knows you and knows what you want. Note: EVERY time you buy rice (what you eat EVERY meal), they will be SHOCKED. And the ONE time per month you go for pasta, they will shake their heads and say, "She doesn't eat rice! Those Americans--they don't eat rice like the Malagasy." This is very frustrating.
Here is something you must put up with whenever you go to the market: The giant animal carcasses they're selling. You must deal with the smells, the flies, and the men who try to convince you to buy it even though you tell them time and again that you don't WANT that cow's face, thank you. PS The giant hunks of flesh are transported by throwing the dead body on top your your head no joke. Buying in bulk means taking a shower when you get home.
Details: When street food is too hot, they put it in newspaper or notebook paper. When you get juice, you drink out of the same cups everyone else uses that are then dunked in a bucket of water to clean them. A common sight is a woman with a basket on her head, another in her hand, and a live chicken in the other hand. You kill the chicken before supper, of course. It doesn't seem to mind being carried upside down, by its feet. I find that strange.
Add the walk home and you have my daily market trip!
Thursday, January 31, 2008
all creatures (not so) great and small
In every living situation, there comes a time when you need to have a little sit-down with your housemates to discuss what is and what most definitely is NOT okay. I believe that time is now.
Note: The snails have already been evicted. Too much pooping in the shower.
To the spiders.
Listen. I thought we had an understanding. I let you make yourselves at home, and you eat the mosquitoes that could give me malaria. We had an agreement. But you are getting FAR too territorial. No, you cannot use my clotheslines as part of your webs. They are not sticky. It will not work. The same goes for my water filter. And my silverware. That's just gross. And I don't know WHOSE idea it was to hide the huge woody spiders in my clothes, but cut it out. You are not cute. Jumping out and surprising me like that . . . And sleeping on my mosquito net? Right above my face? There's a reason you died in your sleep last night. It's called karma. PS I've been bitten a lot lately. Either step it up or get out.
To the termites.
Um, sorry about the poison. But listen, you were etting out of control. I mean, it was one thing trying to eat the mattress?. BAD termites. But then when you ate an entire card from my grandmother (my GRANDMOTHER, for goodness sake)? In one night? You sealed your fate. Not to mention nibbling on my favorite shoes. I had to get you before you got Choi's good Alice in Wonderland postcard. So I apologize, but you left me no other choice. If it's any consolation, there's a decent chance I ate some of that poison too. So there's that.
To the flies.
Okay. Not to be a party pooper or anything. We're all entitled to have a little fun. But seriously. This having sex on my desk thing? It has to go. I do not wish to watch flies mounting flies while I write lesson plans. And I'd appreciate it if your foreplay did not include tumbling over each other ON ME. Is my sweat that arousing for you? And I understand that the food here isn't necessarily stellar--I miss Mexican too, trust me. But get out of my wounds. Puss is not good. You are disgusting. And I don't know you well enough to let you nibble on me like that? Oh, and dive bombing down my shirt? No no no no no. Stop that right now. We're not even the same species. It would never work out. Point is, go forth and multiply, okay fine whatever. But do it somewhere else. Or just go . . . chill with the termites.
To the cockroaches.
I've given you a lot of space--a lot of generosity. I did not grow up seeing you, so you did not bother me. You were a novelty. You kept me company in the shower. But if you're going to move in like that, you need to clean up after yourselves. Showering in your droppings is not my idea of cleanliness. And to the 3 of you who decided to make my hiking shoe your home? What were you thinking?? Stupid stupid stupid? To the one who tried to get into my toothbrush case, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will find you and I will kill you and I will feed you to the chicken. I think I've made myself clear.
To the frogs and lizards.
You can stay. You are cute. And so fast!
To the snake in my kabone.
You can stay too. Though why you'd WANT to is beyond me.
I do not acknowledge the existence of any other creatures in my house. If I have not mentioned you, you are trespassing. Watch out, or I will send the woody spiders after you.
Note: The snails have already been evicted. Too much pooping in the shower.
To the spiders.
Listen. I thought we had an understanding. I let you make yourselves at home, and you eat the mosquitoes that could give me malaria. We had an agreement. But you are getting FAR too territorial. No, you cannot use my clotheslines as part of your webs. They are not sticky. It will not work. The same goes for my water filter. And my silverware. That's just gross. And I don't know WHOSE idea it was to hide the huge woody spiders in my clothes, but cut it out. You are not cute. Jumping out and surprising me like that . . . And sleeping on my mosquito net? Right above my face? There's a reason you died in your sleep last night. It's called karma. PS I've been bitten a lot lately. Either step it up or get out.
To the termites.
Um, sorry about the poison. But listen, you were etting out of control. I mean, it was one thing trying to eat the mattress?. BAD termites. But then when you ate an entire card from my grandmother (my GRANDMOTHER, for goodness sake)? In one night? You sealed your fate. Not to mention nibbling on my favorite shoes. I had to get you before you got Choi's good Alice in Wonderland postcard. So I apologize, but you left me no other choice. If it's any consolation, there's a decent chance I ate some of that poison too. So there's that.
To the flies.
Okay. Not to be a party pooper or anything. We're all entitled to have a little fun. But seriously. This having sex on my desk thing? It has to go. I do not wish to watch flies mounting flies while I write lesson plans. And I'd appreciate it if your foreplay did not include tumbling over each other ON ME. Is my sweat that arousing for you? And I understand that the food here isn't necessarily stellar--I miss Mexican too, trust me. But get out of my wounds. Puss is not good. You are disgusting. And I don't know you well enough to let you nibble on me like that? Oh, and dive bombing down my shirt? No no no no no. Stop that right now. We're not even the same species. It would never work out. Point is, go forth and multiply, okay fine whatever. But do it somewhere else. Or just go . . . chill with the termites.
To the cockroaches.
I've given you a lot of space--a lot of generosity. I did not grow up seeing you, so you did not bother me. You were a novelty. You kept me company in the shower. But if you're going to move in like that, you need to clean up after yourselves. Showering in your droppings is not my idea of cleanliness. And to the 3 of you who decided to make my hiking shoe your home? What were you thinking?? Stupid stupid stupid? To the one who tried to get into my toothbrush case, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will find you and I will kill you and I will feed you to the chicken. I think I've made myself clear.
To the frogs and lizards.
You can stay. You are cute. And so fast!
To the snake in my kabone.
You can stay too. Though why you'd WANT to is beyond me.
I do not acknowledge the existence of any other creatures in my house. If I have not mentioned you, you are trespassing. Watch out, or I will send the woody spiders after you.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Reminder
For those of you who have asked (and just to remind the rest), you can write to me at:
Bethany Allen
Lycée Resaotsy
BP 14
Mahabo 615
Madagascar
(miss you too!)
I promise to reply :)
Bethany Allen
Lycée Resaotsy
BP 14
Mahabo 615
Madagascar
(miss you too!)
I promise to reply :)
Highlights of Winter Break (for better or worse)
Cleopatra in Andringtra, aka Christmas in Africa
So our fist stop was the most eventful. When going to remote locations, you may find yourself filling a van full of Malagasy people and negociating a price up the mountain. If you are ME, you will use the remote opportunity to ride on TOP of the taxibrousse instead of in it, sprawled out Cleopatra-stylez, reclining on luggage while enjoying the view. Uh, note: such intense sun exposure will ead to a dissolving nose covered in puss and blood no joke. OOPS. Live and learn. I felt like Rochester on syphilis. Hot. Our Andringtra goal was to climb Madagascar's second highest peak. We decided this was best done in one day. Yes yes--up and down in 14 hours with the occasional food break. When the guide wasn't looking, I may or may not have jumped off a bridge and into soem pools by some waterfalls. Oh and THEN I got called Cleopatra a SECOND time when I had to be straight up CARRIED DOWN part of the mountain in the chair created by the arms of two of the guys. Um, oops take two? It seems I aggravated an injury from training. Dear Doctors: I know you told me to take it easy, only running 5 minutes at a time and slowly increasing over weeks, but I'm just too impatient for that sort of thing, and decided to skip it and go straight to climbing 34 km up and down a steep mountain all in one go. Awesome. I could not bend my legs. Silly knees. HA. Christmas day was spent nursing wounds (nose, knees, and a cold that decided to join the fun). Our Christmas feast was eaten out of a can (HAHAHA); And we sang Christmas carols while lying down, looking at the stars. We then spent the night (after finally getting driven away from the mountain) in the sketchiest hotel ever in life (Travis's last words before we all went to sleep: Uh, not to ruin the moment, but I have to say--I think some rat feces just fell on my face"). Hahahaha. I know you are so jealous. Needless to say, there was no snow.
I'll hit on other highlights quickly. 1. Swimming in waterfalls and jumping off a cliff into a natural pool in Isalo. Bonus: not losing my swim suit in the process. 2. Playing with lemurs in Zombitse. No seriously, I had bite marks from wrestling around with them. MUCH more fun than dogs or cats. 3. Snorkeling in Ifaty! Amazing. Perhaps my favorite part of the trip. Minus the slow boat ride back in the rain. Cuddling for warmth was only SO helpful. 4. Ameoba! I got one. His name was Franklin. He's dead now, I killed him. I obviously spent New Years' Eve rolling around in pain in bed with a break or two to puke up my supper. Happy New Year! Hahaha.
Oo, and a panic attack on the way home (I laugh NOW . . .). It turns out my malaria medicine occasionally causes insanity--depression, paranoia, anxiety--the whole shebang. And we discovered (after 7 months of putting the stuff in my body) that I'm one of the lucky few! Uh, cool? Don't worry--I'm on new meds and feeling a bit more normal.
AND I came home to find TERMITES. Yay! Welcome to the party in my house. Hahaha. And there's a snake living in my kabone (bathroom aka hut and hole). OH PS I held a boa constrictor in Isalo. And these snails keep sneaking into my shower and pooping everywhere. NOT okay. There are way bigger than any escargot I ever ate in Paris.
Ooookay. We'll leave it at that. An eventful trip, yes? Oh hey wait did I tell you I put a swing in my house?? Oh yes. Come play!
Talk to you later :)
So our fist stop was the most eventful. When going to remote locations, you may find yourself filling a van full of Malagasy people and negociating a price up the mountain. If you are ME, you will use the remote opportunity to ride on TOP of the taxibrousse instead of in it, sprawled out Cleopatra-stylez, reclining on luggage while enjoying the view. Uh, note: such intense sun exposure will ead to a dissolving nose covered in puss and blood no joke. OOPS. Live and learn. I felt like Rochester on syphilis. Hot. Our Andringtra goal was to climb Madagascar's second highest peak. We decided this was best done in one day. Yes yes--up and down in 14 hours with the occasional food break. When the guide wasn't looking, I may or may not have jumped off a bridge and into soem pools by some waterfalls. Oh and THEN I got called Cleopatra a SECOND time when I had to be straight up CARRIED DOWN part of the mountain in the chair created by the arms of two of the guys. Um, oops take two? It seems I aggravated an injury from training. Dear Doctors: I know you told me to take it easy, only running 5 minutes at a time and slowly increasing over weeks, but I'm just too impatient for that sort of thing, and decided to skip it and go straight to climbing 34 km up and down a steep mountain all in one go. Awesome. I could not bend my legs. Silly knees. HA. Christmas day was spent nursing wounds (nose, knees, and a cold that decided to join the fun). Our Christmas feast was eaten out of a can (HAHAHA); And we sang Christmas carols while lying down, looking at the stars. We then spent the night (after finally getting driven away from the mountain) in the sketchiest hotel ever in life (Travis's last words before we all went to sleep: Uh, not to ruin the moment, but I have to say--I think some rat feces just fell on my face"). Hahahaha. I know you are so jealous. Needless to say, there was no snow.
I'll hit on other highlights quickly. 1. Swimming in waterfalls and jumping off a cliff into a natural pool in Isalo. Bonus: not losing my swim suit in the process. 2. Playing with lemurs in Zombitse. No seriously, I had bite marks from wrestling around with them. MUCH more fun than dogs or cats. 3. Snorkeling in Ifaty! Amazing. Perhaps my favorite part of the trip. Minus the slow boat ride back in the rain. Cuddling for warmth was only SO helpful. 4. Ameoba! I got one. His name was Franklin. He's dead now, I killed him. I obviously spent New Years' Eve rolling around in pain in bed with a break or two to puke up my supper. Happy New Year! Hahaha.
Oo, and a panic attack on the way home (I laugh NOW . . .). It turns out my malaria medicine occasionally causes insanity--depression, paranoia, anxiety--the whole shebang. And we discovered (after 7 months of putting the stuff in my body) that I'm one of the lucky few! Uh, cool? Don't worry--I'm on new meds and feeling a bit more normal.
AND I came home to find TERMITES. Yay! Welcome to the party in my house. Hahaha. And there's a snake living in my kabone (bathroom aka hut and hole). OH PS I held a boa constrictor in Isalo. And these snails keep sneaking into my shower and pooping everywhere. NOT okay. There are way bigger than any escargot I ever ate in Paris.
Ooookay. We'll leave it at that. An eventful trip, yes? Oh hey wait did I tell you I put a swing in my house?? Oh yes. Come play!
Talk to you later :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)