Madagascar! Who in the U.S. thinks of going there? An island twice the size of Great Britain several hundred miles off the coast of Southeast Africa, former French colony...but--that's where the lemurs are, 52 species of them, and that's the only place in the world these primitive, cudly looking primates live, so it natually found a place on Barbara's itinerary--and I'm so lucky to have come along!
My Bradt guide warned us that we would be thronged at the airport by people offering their services, so I was skeptical of every one who approached us. But we decided on one taxi driver, who turned out to be the key to our transportation here. After taking us to our hotel, La Ribaudiere, a chic place amidst the general city squalor, with excellent French cuisine, he proposed a city tour. I jumped at it; Barbara prefered to work on her blog. So after lunch Jean-Luc and I retraced our steps back towards the airport to visit the rice paddies and markets we had passed earlier. There was the poverty, the slums, which always present to the outsider as a vast marketplace of small shops, the traffic jams, the artificial lake that everyone seems so proud of, the high hill in the middle of the city with the Queen's Palace on top, or at least its shell. It was a sea of poverty, with beauty everywhere.
The high point was when I walked down from the levee that separated the rice paddies from the highway, and into the yard of a family who worked there. Luckily they spoke French, and after exchanging pleasantries, giving them my good will card, with pictures of my family and friends, and taking their family portrait, I asked them if I could see the inside of their house. They agreed! So in we all went, the whole family, me, and the chickens. You can see the results below, along with other images from the afternoon.
The tour started with a visit to the shell of the Queen's Palace building on the highest place above the city. At the panorama point, we approached by two teenagers who offered themselves as guides, and who were known to Jean-Luc. I accepted, and they took me beyond the barrier and into the empty palace. It was a scene right out of Di Chirico paintings, and I tipped them each 10,000 ar for their services.
The interior of the Queen's Palace, the shell of a building that burned in the late 1990s.
Children I encountered on the levee. They would push each other aside to get closer to the camera and put out their fists in a macho gesture.
Much of the servicing of the rice paddies is done in pirogues like this one.
Looking back up at the levee from the highway, I saw these two children dancing along, and managed to capture this image, which reminded me of Kara Walker's work.
The rice paddies and their channels in the late afternoon.
Sole worker in the rice paddies, close to sunset.
The family I visited, who worked the rice paddies, outdoor portrait.
My Bradt guide warned us that we would be thronged at the airport by people offering their services, so I was skeptical of every one who approached us. But we decided on one taxi driver, who turned out to be the key to our transportation here. After taking us to our hotel, La Ribaudiere, a chic place amidst the general city squalor, with excellent French cuisine, he proposed a city tour. I jumped at it; Barbara prefered to work on her blog. So after lunch Jean-Luc and I retraced our steps back towards the airport to visit the rice paddies and markets we had passed earlier. There was the poverty, the slums, which always present to the outsider as a vast marketplace of small shops, the traffic jams, the artificial lake that everyone seems so proud of, the high hill in the middle of the city with the Queen's Palace on top, or at least its shell. It was a sea of poverty, with beauty everywhere.
The high point was when I walked down from the levee that separated the rice paddies from the highway, and into the yard of a family who worked there. Luckily they spoke French, and after exchanging pleasantries, giving them my good will card, with pictures of my family and friends, and taking their family portrait, I asked them if I could see the inside of their house. They agreed! So in we all went, the whole family, me, and the chickens. You can see the results below, along with other images from the afternoon.
The tour started with a visit to the shell of the Queen's Palace building on the highest place above the city. At the panorama point, we approached by two teenagers who offered themselves as guides, and who were known to Jean-Luc. I accepted, and they took me beyond the barrier and into the empty palace. It was a scene right out of Di Chirico paintings, and I tipped them each 10,000 ar for their services.
The interior of the Queen's Palace, the shell of a building that burned in the late 1990s.
Merchants of electronic accessories, who planted their umbrellas on the railroad tracks and removed them every time a train came by. There is a canal behind the tracks and another row of slum merchants on the other side.
Children I encountered on the levee. They would push each other aside to get closer to the camera and put out their fists in a macho gesture.
Down from the highway side of the levee, another series of rice paddies spread out, with waterways and recreational land. I caught a boy washing himself naked, standing in small basin, with (presumably) his sisters preoccupied nearby. When he saw me photographing him he started to dance for me.
Much of the servicing of the rice paddies is done in pirogues like this one.
Looking back up at the levee from the highway, I saw these two children dancing along, and managed to capture this image, which reminded me of Kara Walker's work.
A lower lying levee extending into the rice paddies. Note the couple in the forground almost obscured by the motor scooter.
The rice paddies and their channels in the late afternoon.
Sole worker in the rice paddies, close to sunset.
The rice paddy family who invited me into their home, along with the chickens.
The family I visited, who worked the rice paddies, outdoor portrait.
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