LE BON VOYAGE DE MADAGASCAR Q!

Update

2006-11-27T02:25:00.000-06:00

Here I am in Antalaha where I've just celebrated Thanksgiving with new and old friends. I had been working out in the forest for two weeks, installing a new monitoring program for a reforestation project. I hiked 17 hours over two days to get to Antalaha - my old banking town. It is really nice to be back, although I think I need to head back home tomorrow and I am not really quite yet looking forward to the walk.

I took the GRE at the end of October. I hope I did well. I have also applied to graduate school and eagerly await a reply - hopefully by February. Other details of the past few months are relatively difficult to retrieve, so I will leave you all with a poem that I wrote in the forest.

There are shrouds of low clouds
hanging like the slow scent of a bad memory.
But then!
The sun's ethereal fingers tear open
the bowels of the sky
to reveal
a Blue as Red as blood -
the siren song of our collective knowing.
A color as sweet as honey.
And I have hope again.
----------------------
As for hope, I hope all of you are well. Another update will be due in January or so, the next time I know for sure that I will have internet.

Until then, with love
-Stephen

Bridge? What Bridge?

2006-08-04T12:58:00.000-05:00

At 6:15 one morning last week, I awoke to a loud noise like five tons of loose rock being dumped racously from a large truck made of bass drums. The house quaked slightly. Despite all this, and the fact that dump trucks made of bassdrums are either rare or completely improbable, I quickly decided on that unlikely answer to my what was that(?). I went back to sleep.

Roughly two hours later, I stumbled downstairs to purchase my usual: a yogurt and a smal pack of tiny sweet oyster crackers.

"Have you seen the bridge?," asked my yogurt-peddling landlord like a Malagasy Led Zeppelin impersonator. I hadn't, but his following phrase, "it's fallen," piqued my interest. I wandered up the street with yogurt in tow.

The Bridge is a beast of concrete and steel that spans about 80 meters of river. Installed by the French at the tailend of their colonial rule, this structure has been supporting a range of travellers, from the likes of ducks up to huge gas tankers, on their cross-river voyages for over fourty years. The bridge sits at the very northern end of the still terrible road from the provincial capitol of Tamatave, some 450 kilometers to the south.

A crowd of people stood and stared. I crested a small hill and couldn't believe what I was seeing: half of the bridge was no more - sunken like a Titanic in the river, a twisted wreck. I ate some yogurt, contemplating what this meant for myself and my Malagasy friends. As for me, carless and having no real economic ties to this particular structure, my life will not change so much. No more easy jogs to the beach. My Italian friend, Bruno, a tour operator, stood beside his little moto with an ironic smile on his face, sucking on a nervous cigarette. Bruno and his business partner had just this year opened a new tourist office on the OTHER side of the bridge, where most of the nice hotels are. But, he, like most of the townspeople, lived on THIS side. We talked. I ate some more yogurt. Was anybody hurt?

Actually, no. It's a curious story. A man on a bicycle made his way across the bridge alone and made it almost across, when one of the bridge's heavy concrete supports just... gave way, crumpling half the bridge. He slid back down the new 45 degree angle and plunged into the water, scrambled then bikeless to safety. It was in deed the man on the bicycle that broke the camel's back cliche played out in startling reality. Bruno shook his head. A new daily commute by canoe for Bruno, and everybody else. I finished my yogurt giggling. Oh, Madagascar!

We shall see how long this repair takes. COLAS, the company with the contract to pave the road from Tamatave, is about 35 bridges to the south. Most of them need replacement.

In other news, I spent a week on the beautiful island of Nosy Managabe for work. I helped to map tourist trails, went whale watching. A beautiful series of weeks, with good friends, good work.

In Tana now for a conference. Miss you, fair reader.

-Stephen

23,000 miles later

2006-07-14T01:45:00.000-05:00

I arrived in Tana yesterday after a long journey across the world.

Upon arriving at Paris-Charles de Gaulle, I found out that my plane to Madagascar was delayed. I had about 8 hours, and though exhausted from the travel, I got a silly idea. I lugged my backpack, laden with too many clothes and gifts, to the train station and bought a round-trip ticket for 16 Euro to the city. I boarded the blueline train and headed to the St. Michelle stop on the advice of the ticket agent.

After 40 minutes or so I climbed a few flights of stairs and rediscovered daylight in a courtyard filled with people gawking at the real-as-life Cathedrale de Notre Dame! I have never been to Europe, so of course I was caught in the awe of seeing something so amazing and... old (the building was constructed between 1163 to 1250 ad). I went inside with hundreds of other tourists - myself the only guy lugging a giant red backpack. What a beautiful building! I had to sit down and just take it all in. One of the carvings, that wrapped all the way round the back of the alter area, was created in the early 1300s. How amazing.

After Notre Dame. I wandered along the river and stopped in a small park to listen to some guys playing jazz - the music creeping out of a trombone and a tenor sax. Kept going and chose one of endless compelling alleyways through too narrow streets walled by ancient buildings still used as homes and offices and restaurants. I came out into another beautiful street, a sort of shopping district, which had another beautiful garden lined with lovers fawning all over each other, not afraid of PDA, just acting out love in public. I leaned the trusty pack against a tree and just sat there as my jet lag disappeared (for a few minutes anyway), my hands clasped behind my head - hard not to just smile. Hungry!

I only had an hour and a half left before my self-imposed back-to-the-airport time. So I picked a cafe - a classic one with awnings and black raut-iron tables and chairs, smoking French, plenty of passers-by to stare at. At one end of the street, the Pantheon, a massive put-the-US Capitol to shame dome, and at the other end a traffic circle and a view of the Eiffel tower. I ordered a croque-monsieur, a sandwich I had heard about in Lucy Griffith's high school french class, and a giant chocolate ice cream, which appeared with a long spoon in its own water glass and a spinning colored fan stuck in the top of a mountain of whipped cream. And an Evian water, of course. It was wonderful to sit alone and look at an endless flow of beautiful women, fancy cars, and the unparalleled scenery of the Parisian built environment.

My three hours in Paris was the perfect end to a vacation that brought me to amazing places:

Yosemite
Sacramento
Point Reyes National Park
Portland, Oregon - Beaver's baseball, the riverfront
A fourth of July fireworks day at Vancouver, WA
The Columbia River Gorge/Multnoma Falls
A day of swimming - swinging on a rope swing/ exloring the cold water at Moulton Falls, WA
Mt. Saint Helens - a clear day!
Berkeley, CA. Exploring the town and the U of California.
An amazing tour of San Francisco with my parents. (We took a ferry to Sausalito, saw the Golden Gate, cable cars, etc. Fantastic!)

In a little over two weeks, I travelled 23,000 miles.

I thank Cat and Court, who made this all possible. The wedding was beautiful. I'm proud and amazed to be a part of it. Thanks to all of my friends who made my trip even better. Everybody at the wedding, folks on the phone. Brooks, what happened?

To Richard, who drove me around, a lot. And to Daniel for the same reason. Thanks.

To Mom and Dad, for adventurously meeting me in Berkeley. I love you both!

To Derek, who gave me an insiders look into the ERG program at Berkeley and for lodging and fun.

To anyone I've forgotten. Sorry about that!

Back to site for a while. I hope all is well.
-Stephen

Fooled You!

2006-06-30T19:47:00.000-05:00

I am sipping "Smart Roast" coffee out of a styrofoam Holiday Inn cup. It is cold because of what must be a massive central air conditioning system in this large and immaculate, but totally common, American hotel near Portland, Oregon.

That's right ladies and gentlemen, I am in the United States of America. A friend of mine is getting married, and to surprise him, his fiance flew me to the US. It was amazing to see the look on my friend's face when he realized who the stranger standing in front of him actually was!

Several days ago, I went to Yosemite National Park. It is a truly incredible place. When you drop into Yosemite valley, the scenery wraps around you like some giant fake screen. The valley is quite developed as far as tourist infrastructure goes. We were there on a day when the park service was testing a handheld PDA/GPS device that talked to you and played videos as you walked toward a waterfall. It was actually a nice experience and didn't really detract from the scenery. We were interviewed about our thoughts afterward by some Australians who said, "how did you get on then?" Luckily, I am used to strange forms of English and understood the question. Maybe other 'Mericans had problems. Visiting such a well-run, highly visited jewel of a park like Yosemite is a huge contrast to the park where I work in Madagascar.

For the first few days, riding in cars was a little scary. There are a lot of them, and they are all fast. Grocery stores are a little overwhelming too. There is so much stimulus. I start to panic when I think about the differences between Malagasy stores and American stores (where there is SO MUCH on display). If I think about the system that exists to support our form of commerce, I begin to feel a sense of awe and terror. Everything here seems so developed and new and fantastic. I only wish the masses could be in a position to realize how truly amazing our country is - how we've manifested our destiny. And then, if the masses could understand the underlying negatives that go along with all the positives of our way of life as well.

I sat down in my seat on a plane in NYC, next to a well-healed woman in her mid forties. She began to complain about the leg room in the plane.

"On Jet Blue, all the seats have plenty of room. I mean, look at this!"

A stewardess walked by. The woman thrust out a stack of magazines.

"Can you take this from me? They're in my way. I already don't have enough room and you stuff these pockets with all this crap."

The stewardess was swallowed in a sea of people busy arranging their things for the cross-country flight. (My third flight after 16 hours in a plane).

"I'll come back, I'm busy," said the stewardess, stating the obvious.

"Well, I'll just put these here." Said my new neighbor, dropping the magazines in the aisle.

The stewardess whipped around.

"Oh that's great, just put them where everyone can trip over them," she said and picked up the stack, and moved toward the front of the plane.

Tense.

The woman looked at me.

"Can you believe these people? On Jet Blue, they treat you so well."

My first thought was, what is Jet Blue? But I said,"Have you ever been to Africa?"

The woman said no.

"I live there right now. Anytime I want to travel over land I have to take a taxi brousse. A brousse is usually a 25-30 year old small French truck which is crammed with 30 smelly people - children, chickens, huge sacks of rice, luggage. And the roads! Don't get me started about that! I'm just glad to have my own seat."

The woman looked at her knees and was silent for a moment.

"I guess you feel differently when you get out and travel the world."

------

It's hard not to preach to people now. We ended up being good seat neighbors. And the stewardess won my new friend over by giving her two free small bottles of vodka. They were laughing and smiling at each other by the end of the flight.

I hope that everybody is well. I'll write more soon.

-Stephen

A Change for Me. Ha!

2006-04-19T09:03:00.000-05:00

For some time I have been trying to get a site change approved. I was placed in a small village and then asked to travel away from the village for long periods of time. Eventually what seemed to happen was that I was away more often than in the village, so I had the feeling of living out of a backpack for nearly a year. After some lobbying, I convinced the powers governing my experience in Madagascar that a move to Maroantsetra would be beneficial both to myself and to my partner organizations, WCS and ANGAP. Last week, I was told that I would be relocated to work at the park office in Maroantsetra and be assigned to regular missions to various locations around the park like my last mission to a place called Ambatolaidama. There I mapped out a reforestation program that has been underway on former agriculture fields. The hand drawn maps that exist make long term scientific monitoring difficult, so my maps will improve the current system by being more accurate.

I walked from Maroantsetra to Antalaha over the course of two days starting last Friday. There weren't any planes so I set out by boat for an hour, and then began walking. The Malagasy make the journey to a town called Mahafinaritra in two days. There you can get a taxi to Antalaha. I decided to push myself and give the journey a shot. And I made it! What's more I completed the trip entirely solo. No guide or porter. This is possible only because I can now communicate in Malagasy fairly well, and the people in the countryside are very kind. I got a little worried when I started walking behind 12 large guys with machetes, but they quickly outpaced me because of my blisters anyway.

My next few days will consist of a logistically frustrating trip to Cap Est to gather my belongings and then travel with them to Antalaha. I must then figure out the best way to transport the stuff to Maroa. Boat or plane. Not gonna walk with 80 kilos of stuff!!!

I am very excited to have the opportunity to work more closely with Parc National de Masoala. The work is fascinating and I have an excellent counterpart who is teaching me much. Unfortunately, this move will take me away from internet access for longer periods of time. I should have access again in August when I travel to Tana for a conference. Or perhaps before if my work takes me to a larger town..

I thank everyone who has sent me an e-mail, package, or posted a comment to this blog in the past month.

Caroline - I'm so glad that it's getting warmer in Ukraine. You sound like you are doing amazing things. Can't wait to see you sometime in the future.

Annie C - Congratulations on your decision to join PC Georgia. Get ready for the ride of your life.

Mike Winninger - Still forgetting the correct spelling of your name. Thank you for being one of a select group of individuals who have taken the time and care to send me magazines and Oreos. Your packages are amazing. I can't believe that you take the time to be so nice to me despite the engineering studies and running and all. You are wonderful!

Mom and Dad - look forward to the call tomorrow!

Tricia K - Good luck in Nashville. I'm so happy for you that you are so happy there. This kind Australian guy told me that there was a tornado there recently. Can you give me some info about that? Thanks for keeping in touch.

Everybody else - a few of you have been wonderful to keep in touch. Others, specifically Brooks Clardy, have not sent me more than one e-mail during my more than a year in Africa. Not to call you out but I just called you out.

Love you all,
Stephen

Update

2006-03-04T02:10:00.000-06:00

Here I am back in Antalaha where the temperatures are warm and the humidity is humid. I've been in Tana for nearly a month where the temperatures are cool and the humidity is much less... humid. I always need a few days back here to adjust to sweating and feeling the good layer of body oil between skin and t-shirt.

I loved being a PC trainer. I got to watch the new group walk off of the plane, to see them in their first few minutes in Madagascar. Later, I helped to announce their sites for the next two years. Then I helped to teach classes in organic gardening, composting, permaculture, seed collection, storage, and treatment, and tree nurseries. I also led a session on "American Diversity." I got to know the new group in at least a cursory way and I look forward to seeing all of them as volunteers.

I enjoyed Tana this time around. I got to see more of its winding european-style streets. The air quality was better than normal, making the usually grimey town look pretty. We ate at great restaurants and visited a museum. I got to play tennis one day, too. Which I happen to have only played three times in my life, but apparently I have a killer serve. So look for me at Wimpledon.

I return to my site for nearly a week. I will then head back to Maroantsetra to meet friends. I may be in charge of purchasing grafted orange trees for park tree nurseries and transporting them by boat from Tamatave to Maroantsetra. After that, I will go to assess and help to improve a corridor restoration project in the northern area of Parc Masoala. I will be in the area well into April.

So there's a brief update. Please stay in touch,
Stephen.

I've now been here over a year, just in case you were keeping count.

Pictures!

2006-02-05T13:31:00.000-06:00

This is my new look: with friends Beth and Randy on Halloween in Fort Dauphin.

Sardines killed my friend's ducks!!!!

2006-01-30T07:58:00.001-06:00

I was rocking gently on my own bunk in the back of a forty foot transport boat on the way from Cap Est to Antalaha. Suddenly, one of the crew ran through the cabin to the captain's perch and pulled the throttle way down, his friend yelling, "loka! loka! poisson!" I sat up, careful not to hit my head, and watched the man pull in the troll line with his bare hands. Slowly, a fish inched its way, foot by foot, toward the back of boat. It was a tuna. I know because I've seen many of them depicted on cans in the supermarket. I can attest that this tuna was "dolphin safe," but the boat was certainly not tuna safe. The next minute found the tuna being beaten to death with a large stick. I looked down to the bunk below, as the fish beating rung in my ears, and my only cabin mate, a well dressed woman from the village, was barfing in a small plastic bag. Oh the moments we live through!

I spent most of the month of January observing the work of the Wildlife Conservation Society's Malagasy tree nursery expert for Park Masoala. He helped to produce most of the trees on display in Zooh Zurich's "Masoala Kely" exhibit. Now, he works to create village tree nurseries in towns around the park. This activity teaches villagers that they can grow their own trees. The hope is that the villages will eventually be able to harvest trees that they have planted and avoid cutting trees within the park if the buffer forests near them become overdepleted. It is an ambitious program working within an unspecified time line without a certain numerical target to shoot for. But it sums up many of the hopes and difficulties of working with indigenous communities near protected areas.

I was able to bike all the way down the coast of the Masoala Peninsula. My favorite village was Ambodilaitry, where a beautiful marine park sparkles in the sun. It is truly a wonderful place.

A few days ago I climed Mt. Ambato for the second time. We were there to collect seeds of a rare tree for Zooh Zurich. The climb is a hellish two hour scramble uphill fighting cyclone damage all the while. I would like to work with park staff to open the area up to tourists by creating a nice trail.. The view from the top is spectacular - a 360 degree view of park and sea. The site would economically benefit local communities because getting there requires canoe drivers, guides, and a few meals. Lemur sitings are almost garuanteed, and several extremely rare plants live atop Ambato. The trick will be how to limit possible tourist impacts to the sensitive site. I'll keep you posted.

Yesterday, I took the aforementioned boat up to Antalaha to meet with the PC Madgascar country director. And soon I am off to Tana to train the new environment volunteers.

Talk to you soon,
Stephen

P.S. Oh, and look out for local sardines in the Cap Est area. They are deadly to ducks under a certain height. We aren't sure why. Just stay away!

Part 3? Or What?

2006-01-05T08:56:00.000-06:00

Diego Suarez, Madagascar. It's a beautiful city, wrinkled around the edges like a handsome face on a wise old man. Weather and time have seen this cosmopolitan city through many histories. I am here by myself today because I need some time by myself to reflect on my place in this crazy place. I am already almost done with another vacation - one almost more difficult than the last. I long somewhat for the stability of work...

You haven't yet heard all of the details of my trip to Fort Dauphin. I will hit only highlights as the minute counter on this computer is fast approaching an hour. 18 hours in a bus from Tana to Tulear, through the beautiful Isalo massif, into the land of Baobab trees. 48 hours in a painfully crowded bus on a terrible road and then Fort Dauphin. It's not as interesting a city as Diego, but the landscape is amazing. We took a small boat north to a beach called Lokaro. A sunrise atop a mountain was incredible, as was the swimming. Soon we travelled to two volunteer's sites located in the spiny forest. At the first I helped to teach villagers how to build fuel saving cookstoves. We enjoyed a beautiful dip in a naturally formed near perfect circle of a swimming hole. A day later, we travelled to another site and went into a reserve where sifika lemurs hopped effortlessly from spiny tree to spiny tree. I was struck by how different the spiny forest is from the rainforests of the north - like trees from Mars.

After returning from this whirlwind tour, I spent nearly three weeks in Maroantsetra entering forest inventory data into a computer. I also painted a logo on a community center, planted erosion-stopping vetever grass near a hospital, and helped design a tee shirt for a health and environment festival. And then it was near Christmas time.

On Christmas Eve I went to the wedding of a friend of a friend who happened to be the daughter of a very generous vanilla family in Antalaha. The party after the wedding was a phenomenal affair with 23 separate dishes of food, and drinks flowing endlessly out over the dancefloor. And that was after cocktails under bamboo structures built just for the event. What a day!

But Christmas day brought despair in the form of a robbery that took my backpack and ipod from me, and similar items from several people. We spent the next 24 hours filing reports with the gendarmes and police, and scouring the earth for any sign of a clue. Some airplane tickets turned up miraculously, allowing one of our party to be able to return home. On the 26th, we headed up to Sambava and continued the next day to Vohemar and took the terrible road for 24 hours to Ambilobe. We had to walk a lot of the road and spent quite a while pushing our little truck through thick mud.

On Nosy Be we met with 30 or so other volunteers and spent hours lounging on the beach, and taking excursions to other islands for snorkelling. I swam with a sea turtle! It was a fantastic experience. One day, my friend and I went to see lemurs at a small reserve....

A guide organizer promised us a trip to see the reserve at a reduced price. The boat driver stopped 10 minutes up the coast and took us out into heavily degraded rainforest that we immediately recognised because of our work with parks. I demaned for the man to take us to the reserve because I knew he was pulling one over on us. Back in the boat, I wanted to go back to port, but my friend encouraged me to go with the guide. When we reached shore, I told her to take a paddle. The driver demanded, "Give me back my paddle!"

"Come with us," I replied.

This exchange happened a few times, but ended when we walked toward a lodge with our paddles slung across our shoulders, the driver chasing us cursing. We talked to the French owner of the lodge who spoke to the guide. He took us into the reserve, grumbling the whole way. In the reserve, be had a very amazing close encounter with black lemurs and a huge chameleon. A mad thunderstorm chased us back to our launching area as we raced it in a traditional outrigger canoe. How many tourists have been had by this scam? Good thing we weren't normal tourists.

Over the next several days, we put up with more typical travel discomforts: extremely forceful cab drivers stoned on cola nut and quat taking bags to the top of their cars without asking (my chasing them and ripping the bags out of their hands), uncovered boat rides in harsh equatorial sun, sellers of all types capitalizing on our skin color. But at Ankarana National Park, we communed with crowned lemurs, saw a sacred cave filled with huge chatty bats, and had a run-in with a large scorpion...

I went to take a nap around 1630, in a shared tent. I had every intention of waking up a few hours later to hang out, but woke with a start at 030, realizing I hadn't taken my daily anti-malarial (a big no no considering a recent dramatic increase in mosquito bites). I opened the tent door in total darkness and reached for my bag. I hadn't yet brought it inside. I did, and then found the zipper, felt into the main compartment and got out a headlamp.

"Don't forget to check for scorpions," my friend said through half awareness.

I turned on my headlamp and there, on my leg, was the largest scorpion I have ever seen, it's oft-feared barbed tail curled upward and over like an angry scepter.

"There's one on my leg," I said, with theatrical calm. My two tent mates scampered into a crouched upright position and pulses jumped.

"Everyone stay calm, we don't want to scare it. Find something to kill it with. I'm going to try to get it off my leg."

The poor guy scampered onto the tent floor and I took swat at it with a Nalgene bottle. It was stunned and pissed and ran, sending us shifting for freedom in the tight space. I thrashed it three times as if killing a lion with a spear. Some sort of primal rage flew out as a Nalgene death ray, pulverising the scorpion into a white exoskeletal pulp. Holy crap! The scorpions are said to be very very dangerous, but the Jainist (sp?) in me still feels a little guilty.

-----------------

That, friends, is a little taste of the oatmeal cream pie of my recent experience. Mmm, oatmeal cream pie.

Write to you all soon,
Stephen

PS: If I hear of any more engagements, I'm going to pop. No, seriously, congrats to everybody. One day maybe I will be able to have a relationship longer than 11 months. ;)

Part 2 - Vacation is really hard work

2005-11-17T01:43:00.000-06:00

My window seat provided a stunning view of the Antongil Bay. We were way out over Tampolo and I could see Moroantsetra and Nosy Mangabe cradled beneath the mountain range of Makira. The commuter ATR took only 20 minutes to cover a distance that had taken myself and a group of friends 6 days earlier in the month...

When my foot had mostly healed, I gave myself the go ahead on the hike. The night before, I went to a meeting of conservation professionals in Maroantsetra. There I met a man named Bill Adams, who teaches conservation and development at Cambridge. He gave me a business card and my subsequent related internet searches have piqued my interest in the Environment, Society, and Development program in the Geography Department. Cambridge is celebrating 800 years of operation! Dr. Adams is one of many amazing people I have had the chance to meet.

The next morning our crew set out for the forest after shopping for rice, beans, and other necessities. We were given a lift by boat to a small coastal town called Navana where we left on foot for a place called Mahalevona after hiring a few porters to help carry supplies. It was a beautiful walk on a nice path through extensive rice fields. And the weather! A pleasant temperature, blue skies. In town, Maya and Kame visited some farmers who are participating in a rice growing contest. Lacy and I waited for several hours for them to return.

After dinner, we continued up the trail to a town called Fizono. The trail narrows and begins to climb in elevation. Forest drips over the tops of the mountains on either side of the valley. It was early October and the lack of rain made the trail conditions quite enjoyable. It was only a 2 hour walk from Mahalevona, but because of our late start and wait, we pitched camp at a shelter near a river. It felt like half the village came to watch the spectacle of 4 vazahas setting up our tents and cooking dinner. This special attention can be rather tiring sometimes, and we implored that the people go about their business. They did... until the next morning when herders drove cows down to a field beside the shelter so that they could mate. That was an interesting way to wake up!

In town that morning, we needed to hire three new porters. I opted to have one of them carry my pack because I was afraid of reinjuring my foot. I was hiking in jelly sandals and socks. We had a hell of a time trying to find three men who were willing to work for us. There were tense moments when an old man brought us three teenaged boys who were barely tall enough to keep my bag above the ground. We refused them and finally found some suitably strong and skilled porters. ANGAP was kind enough to let us go on this trip without a tourism guide, so finding porters was up to us. Later, we entered a thin corridor connecting two fragmented forest blocks and almost immediately saw two young lemurs in the trees. Parc National Masoala is in the process of restoring forest within this corridor, which has been heavily degraded by agriculture. We slept in a very very muddy village south of Ampokafo that night.

For the next five days we made our way east toward my village in Cap Est. After passing through Ampokafo, the village trail cuts through a valley which stretches between Antalaha to the northeast and Ambanizana to the south west on the Antongil Bay. The trail climbs to the mountains toward Masoala and a small clearing offers a stunning view of the valley and Ampokafo. Unfortunately, this view is marred by amazingly extensive forest degradation. Traditional slash and burn agricultural techniques have pushed the forests far up the mountain ranges, which is why we had to climb so damn hard to see the beautiful forests stretching all the way to the coast toward the east on the other side of the ridge. We had a long way to go.

The next day we awoke in the rain and spent a lot of time complaining about the leeches, the slippery trail. It was an exhausting day, but we made our way to the base of an amazing waterfall. It was a little too dangerous to get too close to the raging 300 foot giant, but, wow! Later in the day we reached a river that almost sucked most of us into the sort of rapid that would easily break any bone it could. Our Malagasy porters offered their incredible strength to keep us safe. And again, still later, we reached a river that could not be crossed safely with our gear. After wracking our brains for a solution, we decided to hack down a standing dead tree and drag it into the river to help us cross. Or I should say, our porters dragged it into the river for us. As they were working, a group of 7 Malagasy men and women, high on local moonshine, blew past us with wild eyes. Without even thinking, they plowed into the river, holding small bags over their heads. These machines submerged entirely, leaving only hand and bag in the sky above the raging stream, just meters from dangerous rapids. They all made it laughing. It was simply amazing. 30 minutes later, we called it a day and had to set up camp a mere 5.5 hiking hours into our day.

The water subsided the next morning and we followed the trail across the river maybe 15-20 times throughout the day. We made it out of the park, back into clearings and small frontier villages. The river began to calm, after one final hard-current crossing. We camped along the north bank in a beautiful area. Swimming, and drying gear in the new-found sun was our program for the afternoon. The following morning, we hiked to Antanandavahely where we hired canoes and then continued on the river to Antanamboa. There, Maya met butterfly experts that she hopes to solicit for a training near her village. We slept in the town that evening and took dugout canoes the following day to Ambohitralalana where we caught a taxi brousse for the final 6km of the journey. Day 7 found us enjoying the beach at Cap Est, thankful Masoala didn't eat us alive.

I only had a few days at site before I found myself on that ATR, bouncing down the coast toward Tana. That flight began a journey that I am still sort of on. But it all started about three weeks ago...

Stay tuned.

-Stephen

You give me fever - a story in three parts.

2005-11-12T01:14:00.000-06:00

Part One:

In early September I found myself seated on the floor of a flat bottom boat....

The ride to Fampotabe takes 4 to 5 hours by watercraft. Leaving Maroantsetra you ride past Nosy Mangabe as clouds mist the forest canopy. Once past, your attention focuses on the Masoala rainforest which clings to the mountainous geology of the western side of the Masoala peninsula. It is an arresting site - awe inspiring, daunting - this largest protected area in Madagascar. You contemplate the romoteness of the Baie D'Antongil. There are no other boats save traditional canoes made dug-out style in the forest, maybe one lone shrimper scouring the waters. It is very easy to imagine a Dutch merchant ship coming into the bay seeking shelter from a 17th century cyclone - its masts torn, sailors haggard and in need of a rest. And then, you start to tire. Your captain is a fearless man wearing goggles and a plastic rain poncho. The other passengers are a Malagasy guide and a man you don't know, and all of you are now cold and wet. Two hours later, you are rounding a point at Tampolo and the bay begins to open to the raging Indian, and the throttle doesn't waver, the captain allowing the boat to jump out of the water and slam down into wave troughs as violent as a repeated fall from a ladder. You bounce from your seat time and again, cursing. And then you give up and sit on the floor, allowing wave after wave to soak you solidly.

I was in Fampotabe at the request of my counterpart, a Belgian man who is the Technical Advisor for Parc National Masoala. After I showed an eager interest, he allowed me to lead a team of Malagasy ANGAP agents and members of a local association into the forest to research local trails. A week and a half later, I would return again to take part in a study of the same forests. Our program would use the information I gathered to help our movements through the forest. This is how I found myself in Fampotabe handing out per diems to Malagasy people, purchasing food, hiring porters, studying maps, GPSing and taking notes. This weeklong experience would take me into an area known as a GCF (Gestion Contractualise Forestriere). A GCF is a forested area outside of a protected area that will be trasferred to local communities for long-term, "sustainable" management. If local communities manage the remaining primary forests outside of the park, they will be less likely to poach trees from within the protected area. There are currently four such areas in the works around the park.

Wandering around town, worrying about various details of the journey, I met Brian, a Peace Corps volunteer from Benin who was on his Close of Service trip to Madagascar. He was very interested in joining us on the trip, even though he was still more than a week from finishing the difficult trek around the peninsula. So, the next morning, we all loaded in the boat and set out upriver to begin the journey.

Over the next several days, our team hiked throughout the forests of the GCF. Much of the hiking is through muddy rice paddies, in heavy rain, sometimes barefoot. I carried my pack, climbed with it over fences, over slippery log bridges. We saw beautiful forest, though much of it was degraded by village use. We discovered that the park boundary was not where it was supposed to be according to the decree map. One day we bushwhacked through a long section of primary forest and found a massive downed tree that was being worked into two canoes. A fire still smoldered in one of the new boats, displaying a traditional technique in use for hundreds of years. (An aside/discussion point... This boat making technique is very much like one used by many Native American tribes. Around the world, many primitive technologies mirror those used by diverse cultures which are geographically isolated from each other. How the heck did this happen? Futhermore, if such innovations came into use by independent insight (ie. not spread about by travelers) how is it that advanced technologies (industrial revolution/automation) were largely developed only by Western cultures? Just a thought. Anyway....)

After having collected all the data I needed, our crew headed back to the coast to a small village called Ratranoavona. There, it is taboo (fady) to deficate anywhere but on a particular stretch of beach. The next day, we hiked back down the coast to Fampotabe where I saw Brian off for the rest of his journey. Before leaving, he gave me an amazing necklace from Benin which I wear with pride. I returned to Maroantsetra by boat. It was a much nicer ride on the way back.

After several days of rest, I began assisting in the planning for our forest study at Fampotabe. On a Wednesday morning our crew departed, led now by the Belgian.

To conduct a forest survey, a crew can utilize a dazzling array of techniques. Our technique was to create a transect every five north/south kilometers and then put in plots every 300 meters laterally along the transect. The first location of transect one is chosen randomly by selecting numbers out of a hat. We would walk from the park boundary through the GCF to the next boundary. Because of the shape of the area, we had 4 transects to cut. This means that an opening team locates the proper coordinate with a GPS and uses a compass to direct a man with a machete to chop down anything in his path along a straight line. Behind the opening team, the inventory team puts in two plots every 300 meters to assess the species that live there. This team consists of 3 tree identifiers, a team captain who records information, and a man with a topofil, a device that uses a string to measure distance walked. The information gathered will be projected over the whole area using complicated math I don't yet understand, to provide an idea of the value of the timber so that managers will know what they have to work with. My role in all this, I found out, would be what was described as "the most difficult one." I would be team captain. Here's what you would do if you were me.

The topofil guy marks the center of the plot. I measure the slope, canopy cover, height of the dominant tree, forest class. Then, after the id team measures out the large plot using a rope roughly 9 meters in length, they began calling out the name of diameter class of each species. Now, we're in a foreign country in a rain forest, which means that the trees have names like Aramintsitsy, Rotroberavina, Arongona, Tsilombaribarika, etc. And there are hundres of species. So, what you have in your hand is a chart with all of the tree names, diameter classes, and the iders start calling out the names. But, the Malagasy often speak with soft letters, not pronouncing parts of words - syllables collide, vowels dissappear, and you have to work as fast as possible to get an accurate record of the plot. And sometimes it rains, so you do it standing on a 35 degree slope under an umbrella. And other times the iders call out names that aren't on the list, so you have to figure out how to write them down. And you break camp at 7, and work straight through lunch until four, find a spot to camp, cut down palms and ferns to line the ground beneath your tent, set up in the rain, eat under a tarp. One night wild pigs knocked down two of the tents.

Some of my toes had developed a fungus from being trapped in my wet shoes for days, so I began to limp a bit. I discussed with my counterpart about the pain, and we agreed that I would leave with him after having completed two of the transects, asking the Malagasy agents to handle the final two assessments. So, for my final two days, I was put in charge of the opening team. This is a totally different sort of torture.

At one point during the trip, my counterpart said, "sometimes when I am having a very difficult time in the forest, I think of the men in the trenches during World War I, or perhaps people in concentration camps, and it makes me feel better." He was serious. I thought of this as I lead the machete guy over all sorts of topography, telling him "ankavia, mahitsyfo (left, straight)" and repeatedly cursing my compass. My little bousole (compass) is calibrated for life in the North, the magnetism of the southern hemisphere sucking the needle to the bottom of its chamber and causing it to drag. You have the hold it at an odd angle to get it to swing correctly. On top of that, it is necessary to follow what is called a declination to get a proper compass reading between map (true) north and compass (magnetic) north. This means that to go straight east magnetically, you set the compass to 90 degrees, but maybe with the declination, map east would be something like 105 degrees. But, we didn't know the proper declination, so when I was able to try to confirm with GPS if we were cutting a straight line, I found that we were 300 meters south. So I readjusted, but chose too conservation a declination and still wound up close to 300 meters south of target when we found the boundary. It is difficult to navigate well when you are slipping, tripping, and sweating, and you can't ask for advice because you don't speak well in Malagasy, and the cutting team most likely had never even seen a compass.

Waiting for the rest of the team at the park boundary, I noticed that my foot hurt really badly. When I finally decided to leave for Ratranoavona, it hurt really really badly. My best analogy is to imagine an already injured foot in a shoe lined with sandpaper. I made it 8 painful kilometers, crying, yelling. At the village, a crowd gathered to see me remove my shoes. My foot was swollen and red. We treated it with creams and protected it for the boat trip back. By the next morning it got quite large, and Peace Corps put me on an antibiotic called Cloxicillin.

I had one week to recover in time for our hike through the forest to Cap Est. I spent several days at Maya's village, helping her to finish a large world map she'd painted. We had a wonderful time and I improvised my way into cooking delicious Cocoanut Curry Shrimp.

Stephen's Malagasy Cocoanut Curry Shrimp.

Buy one whole Cocoanut. With a large hammer, crack it open. If you hammer the shell while rotating the nut before each hit, it should crack in a line. If you want the liquid from inside, do this over a basin, but that stuff isn't needed for this recipe.

Scrape out all of the meat from the nut. We use a special tool for this. Good luck.

Place roughly half of the meat in a clean cloth or sock. Take one cup of water and poor a third into the sock, then squeeze very hard. The milk will pour out, so do this over a bowl. Do this until you've used one whole cup, then pour out the meat, and do the second half with another cup of water. Do what you like with the meat.

Next, or before all this, peel roughly twenty large tasty shrimp. In a skillet, pour in a bit of olive oil and get it good and hot, sautee garlic and onions to give them a nice smokey flavor, then add the shrimp, and maybe a tiny amount of water. Add a pinch or two of salt, maybe one pinch of pepper. Shrimp cook quickly, but the trick to get them perfect here is to let them cook about two thirds of the way through. They will be turning pink on both sides, maybe even slightly charred. At this point, dump all of the cocoanut milk into the skillet with everything else and let it simmer. After a few minutes, turn the heat way down and add curry. I'm not sure how much, so add enough to make it yummy.

At the last minute add cilantro or maybe a tiny amount of fresh ginger.

Serve over rice. Delicious!

Okay, enough for now. Next entry, The Hike, Fort Dauphin, and Malaria?

-Stephen

More to come

2005-10-14T02:25:00.000-05:00

Dear readers,

I am in Antalaha today after a month of adventure in the Maroantsetra area of Madagascar. My internet connection is rather slow, and I'm experiencing a slightly jarring case of writers' block. Therefore, I promise to fill you in on tragedies diverted and missions accomplished from Antananarivo in nearly two weeks' time. I will be on my way to Fort Dauphin for a working vacation. So, soon to come are tales of foot infections, swollen rivers, fortuitous meetings, resources issues, and a recipe for cocoanut curry shrimp.

Thank you to friends who have e-mailed me recently. C Conway, I am jealous of your cereal indulgences. If that I could. I hope to write soon.

I am happy to encourage students of Coastal Carolina University to explore my blog. I will also be happy to respond to any questions as I have time. If you're thinking about joining Peace Corps, do it.

Soon!

-Stephen

Long time no post

2005-08-23T10:01:00.000-05:00

Here I am back in Antalaha after a good long time away from Cap Est. It's so lively at this little internet cafe I've put earplugs in my ears. Between the teenagers pounding away outside on the foozball tables and the overly doting baby coo-cooing mother yelling at her cuddly bundle of population growth, I have little concentration left to think. The earplugs add a nice muffled distance between my deep inner ear and the goings on of this little bubble of life.

I've been up to quite a lot since my last post. Most importantly, I finished a very difficult boundary survey of the small park near my home. Basically my task was to wander about with a GPS unit and rediscover the boundary of the park. It had been two fires and three cyclones since anyone had tried to do so. And wow, it is really difficult to figure out the best shoes to wear! The first day I tried these new shoes I bought called "jellies." People here use them to work in the rice fields or to walk on the reefs collecting crabs or anything else edible. They worked great until I stepped in ankle-deep mud that sucked them straight off my feet. I spent much of the time barefoot, and the remainder of the day limping on blistered white boy feet. Day two, as I wandered through marshes and drylands, I tried sandals with socks, spending much of my time in socks alone. Day three was more of the same, climbing over dead trees, crawling under them, hopping log to log over swamp. Day four, I tried out some heavy Lowa boots which I have yet to break in and they worked like a charm all 8 hours of difficult work. We moved as slow as 100 meters every 30 minutes due to thick undergrowth. At the end of the day I had a 7 KM walk and, well, blistered yet again.

Several days later I was off to Tana via tiny Twin Otter airplane for my in service training. The flight was beautiful - over the strangely striated coastline of Madagascar and then straight westerly from Tamatave to Tana. After spending three months on the east coast, the reds and Montana-like grassland winter greys of the high plateau were striking.

Oh so many details and so little time. Distilled down I can say that it was incredible being reunited with my environment group in Tana. We moved to the training center in Mantasoa where we were met by the 04 environment group, in town to say hello to our new environment director. There, I was reunited with Maya after two months of letters and a brief phone call. We were nervous, but it was wonderful.

I loved the cold of Montasoa, but the real fun began back in Tana, which I thoroughly enjoyed this time around. We went to restaurants and clubs, bars and an internet cafe that played Weather Report and served iced coffee. Maya and I went to an amazing restaurant called Villa Vanil with a live band that blew me away. We ate ice cream and stood in the middle of l'avenue de l'independence as rollerbladers skidded across a bench, showing off their skills.

After saying goodbye to Tana, I flew up to Maroantsetra with Maya and three of our friends. We went to Maya's village and helped her to begin a large painting of a world map on a school wall. We then went out to a beautiful little island called Nosy Mangabe and saw lemurs and leaf tailed geckos. Yesterday, we went out into Antongil bay to look for humpback whales but saw none. There were dolphins and white and black ibis though. In short, my last month has been a real gift. I feel very lucky.

So, what else?

I've managed to line up an interesting few months worth of activities. I have something to look forward to for the rest of the year. For example, WCS Masoala has asked me to lead a recon team to Cap Masoala to do an assessment of trail conditions, place names, and forest types in advance of a forest survey. WCS has transferred in-tact rainforest just outside of the Masoala National Park to local communities for management. The upcoming survey, which I will also be a part of, will help the community managers to better understand the species and lay of the land. So, in one week I will fly back to Maroa and arrange for guides and porters. Then, we'll take a boat south several hours and I will spend a week on my study. Then I return to Maroa to debrief the survey team and return to the area for two weeks. After that, if I'm not too tired, I'll hike back across the peninsula and await another survey to commence nearer to Cap Est in October. Later in the month, I am going to work for a week in Fort Dauphin in the far far south of the country.

So, life is busy and quite rich right now for me. I will have no access to phones or internet while in Maroantsetra for the month of September - which is good because I might have a nice long inbox to read through when I get back, right?

Miss you all, write soon,
Stephen

Mom: I'm in town tonight (23rd) and tomorrow (24th) - please call. It's just me tonight, so don't worry about waking anyone else up. Call any time.

Skip: WTF?

Court: Stop saying you're going to write me all the time and at least write me every once in a while. ;) Miss you.

Mark: Where's my personal e-mail?

Stephen: Stop being so demanding!!!!

Later days,
Q

10 more days

2005-07-22T04:00:00.000-05:00

My friend Go Go and I set out in the lakana around 230 pm. I had been wanting to see the reef since I got to site months ago. We pushed off in the sand and began a peaceful glide with the boat heading due east toward waves breaking far in the distance.

A lakana is a dugout canoe, usually made from a tree called Vintana or Callophyllum. Despite its quaint and peaceful appearance, it is actually a sort of torture device. I am used to boating in crafts like, say, an Old Town canoe, or a Perception kayak. These wonderful modern devices are no doubt designed by sophisticated CAD machines and molded using advanced devices that help them to efficiently glide through water. Our lakana on the other hand made me want to barf.

Imagine riding a sort of nautical bobblehead that leans violently in either direction if you so much as breath a little harder on one side of your mouth. You shift your hips or slide toward the skyward thrusting side hoping to correct the problem, only to dip the other way. The boat weighs... well it was a tree. So, add to these factors the fact that your handcrafted paddle is twisted in a strange way, and it makes for an interesting adventure.

"So, how deep is it here?" I asked, not really wanting to know.
"About 25 meters," said Go Go, I'm sure with a casual smile. Go Go always has a casual smile.

The day before our little boat trip, we rode our bikes to a town north of Cap Est, which has a good source of red clay. We were going to build a "Fantana Mitsitsy," an improved cook stove. We loaded a 50kg concrete bag with about 70 lbs of clay and Go Go and I lifted it onto his bike rack. Back across the river, Go Go took my bike to buy some nails and I decided that I would make a little distance toward home. I got on the bike and began to peddle. It was shaky. I made it about 50 meters and then gravity pulled myself and my unweildy cargo to the ground. I was expecting this to happen, so I dusted myself off and sat on the bag to make it look like I was just casually waiting for my friend.

When Go Go got back we switched bikes and rode home - all the way home, fast. Go Go never really even swirved off course! How the hell does he do that? With a casual smile.

"Don't worry Stephen," he said to me when we approached the reef. We decided it was a little too rough to brave the waves, but went to a little island to look for shells. It was a beautiful trip, but I was happy to get back to shore.

Life in Cap Est is going quite well except for the roosters. I hate them. All of them. I have a fantasy of asking how much one costs, then immediately chasing it down and beating it senseless with a stick, carrying its dead body to the owner and paying for it, then leaving it to attract flies on the ground. Hey, they are exotic invasives, right?

Exciting news! Tony is blowing up the lighthouse this week! I can't wait. I think I might cook some popcorn and wait for the blast. I didn't get any fireworks for the fourth. Work is progressing well. I have some trees growing in the nursery. The cook stove should be dry this week, and I'm going to help an association to plant some rice with a new method called SRI. Also, I may actually get the boundary survey going this Tuesday. In 10 days I leave for In Service Training, where I get to see my environment group again. We are also going to be joined by the Env group before us and I can't wait. I am counting the days.

Life goes on friends...

Messages:

Annie: Don't worry too much about the language problem. I am not very good at Malagasy yet, but I make people laugh and find other ways to communicate. At this point, you have no idea where you are going to be placed. I think that you studied Spanish in school, if I remember right. You may just speak Spanish at site. You may end up in Belize, and speak English. There are more English speakers here than I thought there would be. Otherwise, if you are speaking a strange new language, you will have an excellent group of nationals to train you. Also, PC encourages you to do quite little for your first three months at site. Adjust to your new home, learn to speak. So, you have plenty of time. It all seems so hectic and scary at this point, even still so for me and I've already been here for 5 months! But it just works. You push yourself and amaze yourself every day. So good luck and just keep breathing. You'll be awesome. And say hi to Rocky.

Rob: read my last post.

S.Ray: Sava is wonderful. How's life at home? I hate that I missed W and J's wedding. E-mail me at pcvgarrett@yahoo.com.

Skip: What the heck buddy. China is fast becoming an economic rival of the US. Don't they have, like, the internet there? Are you coming here or not?

Can somebody tell me how Smith is doing?

And to all others, be well friends,
Q

Really Brief Update - More Tomorrow.

2005-07-21T06:03:00.000-05:00

Hi friends. I want ice cream. I will update this again tomorrow or later today I guess.

This is for my mother, who checks this site religiously, I'm told. Hi mom! You can call any time of the day between today and Sunday morning. I am in Antalaha and will stay until Sunday unless I get bored.

This is for my friend Rob C. Smith. It is very nice of you to remember to call me Pop Tart. Toni is less of a man than you thought, huh? That's great news for me. Sorry it took you a while to figure out how to check up on me, but it may take even longer for me to figure out how to e-mail you without an e-mail address. Try that one on for size, Chucky Cheez. (And if you don't want to broadcast your address to the free world, you may e-mail it me at pcvgarrett@yahoo.com.)

Tomorrow,
Stephen

Toni, Tony, Toney

2005-07-06T09:15:00.000-05:00

When I returned to site my house was finished! I spent one more night in the ANGAP station and the following day brought a young boy to my house driving a large cart powered by a cow. A very large cow, with a hump. We loaded all of my possessions on this cart and it began to rain. I have reached a point in my life that has allowed me to relish in things like this. I mean, how appropriate that it would rain precisely when it really shouldn't. How little control I really have over even the rain! I cursed the sky and challenged it to rain harder. It did. But I was lucky, my plastic covered mattress deflected much of the water and my things were still dry.

My first day was spent unloading my things and adjusting the Peace Corps BLU radio. I have at least AM access to PC Tana and other volunteers. In the PM it is mostly static and noises that sound mostly like robots hitting on each other. It feels very nice to have my own place. I even sewed my own curtains.

I live in the family compound of a man named Justin. He happens to be a fantastic cook. So, I eat all of my meals with him. For breakfast and lunch it's mostly bananas and bread, but dinner is usually fish and sauce with rice or noodles. Very good.

I've begun my work in the Parc Detache, trying to assess tree species and when I return to site I hope to start the boundary survey. I have planted two seed beds of various trees just to see what will happen. I hope they are still there when I get home tomorrow!

I have one month until "in service training" near Tana. I look forward to the time passing. Been running quite a lot at site. Since I've lost close to 18 pounds, I decided to start working out. I will be buff when I get back, so look out!

I spent fourth of July with several other volunteers in a town north of here. It was an adventure trying to find other volunteers. I had never been to Ansirabe Nord and arrived there well after dark without knowing if there would even be a reason to be there. Luckily, my friend was home, and three other volunteers arrived the next day. We cooked wonderful food and made the best peanut butter I've ever tasted.

So there's a straight forward account of my last few weeks. I leave you today with a little story...

Justin came to my door. "Misy olana mitady anao," he said. Someone was looking for me. I pushed open my curtain and a very large man was standing in front of my house. He looked like John Popper at 65, only without the endearing harmonicas. "Bonjour, j'ai les questions." Said the man. "Vous parlez anglais?" I asked, hoping to avoid trying to hack my way through a junglefrench conversation with a dull and rusty language blade. "Only a little," he said. "What time is it? That is all I know," he said, with a raspy laugh. I invited him inside my home. Perhaps this was a mistake.

The man sat down on a stool. It was odd to observe how much of my living space his body consumed. It was like being in a hall of mirrors, a time bending warp of reality. My flooring groaned. The man began speaking in French. I caught nearly 1 word in 10, but enough to understand that he is an Italian engineer in town trying to rebuild the lighthouse. This light house was the tragic scene of a death that occurred many years ago. The lamp exploded, sending fire bursting into the air and shards of glass flying. The lamp sat atop a pool of mercury which kept it level. During the fire, the mercury spilled down the body of the lighthouse, contaminating the structure. Only one man escaped. (For the record, much of what I just wrote was told to me in English by another man in the village).

The man introduced himself as Toni (or Tony, or Toney) after asking me very specific questions about the weight capacity of various bridges and ferries along the route from Antalaha to Cap Est. I told him that I have no idea how to answer his questions, that I was a tree grower, not an engineer. Toney has 10 months to finish his project and very little equipment. He has a lot to think about. God speed, Tony.

During our conversation, Toni pulled out a cigarette, and without a hint of akwardness, began to smoke in my house. Huge forestfire-like plumes of Italian smoke filled my home. Then, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, he ashed on my floor! The large grey clumps of ash fell like powdered stone. When he was done, he threw the spent filter on my front lawn, shook my hand and said goodbye.

Miss you all,
Stephen

Madagascar is not a movie.

2005-06-15T08:48:00.000-05:00

It is a slow afternoon in Antalaha, Madagascar. The workers from COLAS are starting to call off their road paving work for the day. When they are finished with their project, this little town will have a respectable port and a newly polished look - with black tarmac winding below cocoanut trees, a chameleon ocean flaunting colors to the east. Antalaha is considered the vanilla capital of the world. There is great wealth here, but tucked between the large homes are little shacks, muddy roads, and one little room with the only publicly accessible internet-ready computer. I have befriended the young entrepreneur who opened his home to the world, and plan to give him plenty of business.

As many of my readers noticed, my last post was somewhat lackluster in quality - an outpouring of frustration at what was certainly a somewhat frustrating situation. The good news is that when I return to Cap Est tomorrow, I will have a new home and a Radio BLU, a communication device that gives me access to Peace Corps Tana and other volunteers around the country. I bought a small lightbulb and switch to wire my home with a reading light which will be powered by a car battery - recharged by a large solar panel. So I'm pretty well way the heck "off the grid" down there. Beyond the new accomodations, I will also carry with me a GPS device to begin my mapping and survey of the flora of the Parc Detache at Cap Est. This small park was ravaged by three major cyclones since 2000 and also endured two forest fires, set by villagers clearing land for gardens outside of the park. I will work with a local NGO to produce seedlings for the reforestation of the park, which my counterpart, WCS, has at least verbally agreed to purchase. So, the work begins soon, and I have found a purpose.

I have been away from site for several weeks. What an adventure! Zooh Zurich has a giant 1 hectare greenhouse called Masoala Kely (or little Masoala). The exhibit's director and a doctoral candidate came to gather seeds and samples of the plants for cultivation in the zoo and for genetic testing. I was asked by WCS to join them so that I could learn seed collecting techniques. We were led by several very skilled Malagasy guides - employees of WCS (Wildlife Conservation Society) and ANGAP (Association Pour Le Gestion des Aires Proteges - basically the park service). I am so very glad that I got to go. Little 'ol me!

We bounced south on a pretty terrible road from Cap Est. Our route winded through villages and over bridges, past a massive oil palm plantation - through mangrove swamps. Soon, we parked a car in a town called Ratsyanarana (bad name). From there we walked a few miles and several kilometers to primary rainforest. We were searching for a very rare palm called Marojejya, or locally ravimbe (big leaf). It turns out that this plant has a really really big leaf. They seem to be up to 5 meters long! It also turns out that this tree is considered a "living dead," meaning that its existence is so rare that it is on the very edge of extinction. This amazing feat is a combination of the plant's very limited range and the fact that it seems to be a tasty source of heart of palm. When we entered the forest, hiking up streams, we found one of the last three mature individuals a rotting hunk of death - laying on the ground. It had been decapitated and eaten. I have little doubt that the person responsible had no idea that he had wiped out 30 percent of a species for one dinner. But, later in the day we found seeds, and another mature adult, putting the total back to three. Simply amazing to see.

The next two days would become two of the most difficult days of my recent life. We spent a morning in Cap Est, collect samples of Nipenthes masoalensis, a pitcher plant. It produces an enzyme that dissolves insects so that it can absorb nutrients the ground lacks. The enzyme even has a property that reduces the surface tension so that the bugs simply sink no matter how bouyant they thought they should be.This plant only grows in two places - Cap Est, and a mountain top that was a little more difficult to get to than I would have liked... Later in the morning, we travelled north to the small town of Ambohitralalana and commanded a motorboat ride up the river. It was a long dugout canoe filled with people, narrow and uncertain in the shallow water. It made me believe that I was solely responsible for us not sinking - adjusting my balance, clutching the sides. It was four hours of this, and a crocodile sunning itself. We spent the night in a small town on the edge of Parc National Masola in the shadow of Mount Ambato - our destination for the following morning. All night long the village partied to loud music, available only because some strong people hauled a generator and speakers way far away from their normal setting.

We left early in the morning at 530 with no breakfast, less water than safety requires, and some cheese and crackers to sustain our bodies. 4 or 5 hours later, after hiking through thick, post-cyclone regrowth more or less straight uphill in sandles after pulling off four leaches, we reached the population of pitcher plants. And, we found seeds that have never before been described by science. We hiked down and were three hours late for the boat. It drove us back as the sun set. We negotiated two after business hours ferry crossings and made it to Antalaha at 1130 at night. The restaurants are all closed in Antalaha at 1130 so the driver offered to cook us dinner. We went to his house. He woke up his wife and they cooked. We waited... until 130 AM. I fell asleep exhausted and awoke at 630 for breakfast. There I drank some powerful coffee. One hour later, I broke down crying in my room and launched into a caffeine fueled raving pacing fit in my room. I spoke to a jury of all of you, to the world, justifying this choice I have made to be here. I paced and talked out loud, the months of culture shock finally welling fourth. And then, I fell on my bed laughing at the absurdity of pain. I feel much more myself now thank goodness. I hope to never again experience such a strange terrain of discomfort.

Over the next week, I took a boat from Maroantsetra (place of many spears) to Ambanizana in Antongil Bay where I turned 26 at the top of a mountain with two Malagasy guides and two Swiss scientists, who presented me a box of La Vache Qui Rit cheese with a candle on top singing, "Hoppy birfsdee teeohh yeeooo." It was great. From there to beautiful Tampolo to collect seeds and see lemurs. Back in Maroantsetra, it was goodbye to the Swiss and hello to my volunteer friends Maya and Kame. I visited Maya's site and met her mother who was visiting from Maine. Maya and I are cultivating a relationship that gives me hope and happiness. Then it was meetings with my partner organizations and now a return to this new home of mine.

So that's the short account of what's happened to me. This is costing me money, so I must move now to the Shout Outs section of my post...

Jordan and Angela - It brought happy tears to my eyes. A life time of happiness to you. Much luck in Brasil.

Mark: I am sooo happy that you are biking across the country. Say hello to it for me. Your dad has informed me of your school and job choices. I am proud of you. Keep in touch and stay safe. Say hi to Julia!

SP: Great to hear from a Purple Cow! Atlanta. Hang in there and go on vacation as soon as possible. You need to breathe clean air. Thanks so much for writing.

Drew: You write very well. Unfortunately for the next two years I will have absolutely no idea what is happening in American politics. Wait, that's not unfortunate at all! That's a blessing. But I'll catch up when I get back.

Jesse: Call Court. And have a blast in Europe. I'm so happy you are there. I can't wait to see it for myself. Word is bond.

Court: Thank you for the kind note and words of comfort. Actually, I thank everybody for those wonderful words and birthday greetings too. Keep writing. Jesse should be calling you soon.

Monsieur Clardy: Make that two shots next time, and chase it with a little Coke too. Thank you so much.

Skip!!!! Man, Mongolia! China! Jeez, come down here and tell me some stories. There are direct flights from Bangkok, Milan, Paris, Nairobi (maybe air Mauritius or Air Mad), and South Africa. I will await an e-mail to make plans to meet you in Antalaha or Tana if possible. My door is open to you and the forest needs more visitors. Good luck with the proposal, I look forword to seeing a draft?

Okay friends, I need dinner and sleep soon. Those that have tried to call, thank you. I will be near a phone again July 2-5.

Love to all,
Q

Suck It Up! -Peace Corps Env. Sector's Motto.

2005-05-10T04:13:00.000-05:00

What happens when you take a normal American man, place him in an exotic location with a Harry Potter book, a handheld Tetris game, and absolutely nothing to do, add in a French doctor, an abandoned lighthouse, and 200 Malagasy he can't yet talk to?

Answer: The man reads 300 plus pages of Harry Potter and enjoys every bit of it, beats his PR Tetris record - 561 lines (really), and walks about aimlessly for hours on end staring at rather stunning, but somewhat lonely scenery. (Maybe more on the French guy later.) This is the Peace Corps experience... at least the start of it.

I was left alone by my Peace Corps installer the Sunday of last week. My house was not yet prepared, and before the installer left, we were promised that I would be able to move in, well, today. I skeptically smiled and nodded, knowing that this was not what would really happen. In our culture, in general, people try to tell the truth. If an American had been my Malagasy counterpart, he or she might have said, "People here will say that your house will be ready in a week, but that's because Malagasy people say things even if they have no way to validate the veracity of their statement. What I mean to say is, you will not actually ever be able to live in the house you were promised. What will actually happen is, you will wait around for a week and I will come to you and explain that there is a problem. After that, we will exchange pleasantries and then I will show you the complete shithole that I will tell you you will be able to move into in a week that is not really even fit to house rats." Instead, the Malagasy blantantly lie, although they will not ackowledge this to you. They will laugh nervously, and explain it away as a "Malagasy Fomba." A Fomba is a way of doing things.

So the situation I hinted about in the long quote above is actually why I am able to write to you all today. I have travelled to Antalaha to get to the bottom of this situation, in English. But before getting to that, what have I done in the past week at site? Hmmmm.

My first night I was provided a room in the Park Office. Imagine sleeping in a tomb that is literally infested with roaches. Really. They are so loud they keep me up at night. There was one albino roach that was pretty cool, but not even that could keep me there. So, the next morning, I moved in to town to a cosy hotel bungalow for about $1.50 US a night. My own space. Free of cock roaches. Privacy. Freedom.... right next to the house of the drunk guy with no teeth that talks to thin air in the middle of the night who lives next to the most annoying baby in the world, who, when not sealed mouthward (ateet) upon his mother's breast sees fit to wail at the top of his lungs. All day long. Quite possibly the most unpleasant baby I have ever been near.

I was able to go watch two Malagasy soccer matches in a town about 6km north of Cap Est. These are fun to watch because they players are quite good, but it's sideline antics that make the time worthwhile. For example, at last Saturday's game, some Gasy guys were frolicking around the field trying to rile up the crowd. One of them was wearing a lamba (or sort of Malagasy skirt). This lamba was torn off by a dissapproving audience member and a fight insued that interrupted the game. Also, another amusing thing that happens is that when either team scores, scores of Malagasy women and children run screaming and jumping and flipping onto the field as if some ghoul had deviously slipped fireants and ice down everybody's pants. What a ruckus.

My Malagasy counterpart left for my entire first week. So, there was no one known to talk to. He also did not reveal to me the location of the lone GPS unit which I needed to do my first task - to do a boundary survey of a small detached park at Cap Est. In such a case, with no work to do, I did what most people would have done: I tried my best not to slip into a deep comotose self-pity. So I walked up the beach one way, and then the other. Occassionally I would try to talk to people. As aforementioned, I played lots of Tetris and slept, as often as thunderbaby would let me. And I dreamed of home. I felt lost. And then, one day, it hit me. Wait!, I thought. It is supposed to be like this. I am not supposed to be working yet. I have to let myself adjust and learn the language first. There are challenges I am supposed to overcome - like boredom, self-pity, and homesickness. So I explored my new home by bike. South to the abandoned lighthouse, even souther (that should be a word) to an abandoned palm oil plantation. North to a beach that has waves (my beach is in a lagoon). Then some men started teaching me names of trees and I started a little tree field guide with drawings. One day a different drunk man with no teeth (well, one) started talking to me about medicinal plants. At the point where he started miming having dysentery I flashed back to conversations at my fraternity house in Sewanee - I felt as if I were drunk or mysteriously high and I realized that something very abnormal was unfolding before my eyes. I akwardly excused myself and had to go eat some dinner - alone.

So, yesterday I decided to travel north to Antalaha to try to speak with Peace Corps about my house. I hopped on a bike and trekked north through sand, crossed two rivers by canoe, and finally made it after 3.5 hours. 40KM. Those of you that know me remember that I biked a lot back home - I'm sort of used to it. But this trip hurt! The near equatorial sun cuts to the bone, and the relentless sand absorbs the efficiency of your pedal stroke burning your effort into to sweat. And here I am, in Antalaha, which has no power these days due to some issue about fuel. Luckily I have been befriended by some kind people who seem to do quite well selling vanilla. They have a generator. I have talked to Peace Corps and the housing situation is my call. I have been given the authority to authorize work on a new house. Great, time to be an adult. I'll keep you posted.

My near future will find me turning 26 years old somewhere out in the forest with a team of Swiss botanists. When I return on the 6th of June, I will try to post again. I love you all, thank you for keeping up with me, friends - old and new.

-Stephen

Installation

2005-04-28T08:45:00.000-05:00

Hey there everybody... from the vanilla capitol of Madagascar. I'm at the internet cafe hiding from the scary world. There's a nice, cool room here and it is very quiet.

I said my goodbyes to my training group this morning and flew with my installer, Peta, to Antalaha. Flying over the Masoala forest was beautiful.

I am leaving just a short post to say that I am nearing installation at site. One of my counterparts just arrived from my site and said that the roof, shower and bathroom (hole in the ground) are not finished. They estimate May 17 for the completion of that work. Meanwhile, I may live in the ANGAP (forest service) station. I have been promised that it will only be a few days, but the way things happen around here, it's more likely to be a few weeks. I'll keep you posted. Please see my new permanent address posted above. I love you all and will write again soon.

(If anyone sees Taby, tell her thanks so much for the letter for Sean. As soon as I can figure out the postage system, he'll send a reply.) Bye for now (maybe about a month), Stephen.

Hedgehog Legend

2005-04-22T07:22:00.000-05:00

Antananarivo, Madagascar. This city smells of dirty car exhaust - each vehicle grinding by and spewing thick soot, its driver often ignoring safety concerns altogether. Cabs are easy to find - they are everywhere and are most frequently of the very old French variety. This means that the average American ass takes up most of the back seat. Somehow the Malagasy can fit the most amazing amount of people in the most improbable amount of space. The windows rattle, people selling anything from large calculators to puzzles thrust them at you from the street, and the driver turns the car off at any stop over 10 seconds, in traffic, and hills are usually coasted down sans engine as well - perhaps in a miss-guided effort to save gas (which is either deisel or heavily leaded).

The trainee group is here for a few days before moving back to the training center to have some last meetings about medical and safety issues. And for a few precious hours I have free time. I have chosen to spend some of this time at an internet cafe which is also a pizza parlor called Pizza Express. The pizza, while possessing exceptionally thin crust, is pretty tasty. This place has a nice quiet ambiance - but has the appearance of a converted parking garage. But! I found a QWERTY keyboard. For those of you who have never attempted to use a French keyboard, I will explain its difficulty here briefly. The French rearranged some letters and did other silly things like putting the numbers above the symbols at the top of the board so that you have to press shift to use numbers, and for some reason the comma, the apostrophe, and a few other handy symbols live underneath the numbers. So your hands get all confused and it takes quite a while to pound out paragraphs. Anyway, at least they make good wine.

On Tuesday of next week I will be sworn in as a Peace Corps volunteer. I will then be flown with all of my possessions with a Peace Corps staff member for installation. We will buy supplies: bed, mattress, tools, food, etc. Then we will hire a truck and driver to haul it down to my site. My installer will help me to communicate with local authorities like the mayor and gendarme (who seem to be a mixture between police and national gaurdsmen). My installer will leave me and I will find myself as the only American on the Masoal Peninsula. And since I happen to be both a foreigner and white, I will most likely stand out quite a bit. This will cause me to cry for a little while - but I will set about trying to make it through my first three months at site. After three months we will all meet up and regroup to have In Service Training. So, my goal is to make it through (holy sh*t the girl on the computer next to me is looking at some exceptionally raunchy porn - okay, I'm back) the next three months. I will attempt to start a few small garden projects, and then begin to focus on my real work of developing tree nurseries for reforestation and income generating projects. I will have to learn a lot about rainforest trees, tree seeds, and how to collect them. My work borders on ethno-botany because I will work with local villages to determine the types of trees they use and figure out how to grow them so that they will have other options (shes looking at porn again) than carving into the protected area of Parc National de Masoal.

A few days ago we gave our final presentations at our training site. I talked for twenty minutes in Malagasy about water catchment (which is basically attatching bamboo to a roof as a gutter to collect clean water). Okay, so, actually I talked for about 10 minutes and bounced about for the rest of the time - at one point cutting my finger - which burnt a few minutes of time. But, I passed anyway. During one of the other presentations a large group of school children stopped by to watch. I was finding myself a bit restless so I wandered around to the middle of the crowd and stood behind the kids. One of them had on a jacket that was embroidered with the words "Hedgehog Legend." Which is the damndest thing. What could that possibly mean? Another child had on a hat that said, "Noodle: Long and Soft." I also am not so sure about that one. (The girl seems to be e-mailing these very naughty pictures to a friend). Sometimes it's the insanity and arbitrary rediculousness of life that gets me through the days here.

I thank all of you that have posted comments to this blog. And here's a brief load of shoutouts to each of you - and a brief reminder that my e-mail address is pcvgarrett@yahoo.com. Oh - and I'll be posting a new mailing address within the next month as the info becomes available.

Mark: I miss biking with you and I ask you, as a friend, to refrain from riding until I get back. It's not fair. How are things, my friend? I hear talk of interviews? I would love to have you over to my place for a trek through a lemur-infested rainforest. Please write an e-mail when you get a chance. And tell Skip and Caleb to do the same for me!

Dr. H: To the BBC's credit they did recently broadcast an interesting interview with an insurance salesman about how London had become "as dangerous as Kabul or Bahgdad" because of the increased risk in terrorism. I didn't find the interview to be sensationalist in the slightest. :) I hope all is well in Sewanee. I'll keep you posted as my work in the Masoal becomes more focused.

Mr. Clardy: I appreciate that you keep up with me over here. It means a lot to me. St. Christopher has kept me safe thusfar and I thank you Clardy's for that! When is your book coming out?

C. Garrett: I envy your Peace Corps service. I've always wanted to do that... oh wait. I guess I am! I hope all is well with you. It's so awesome to be going through this at the same time! I'll get an e-mail off to you soon. Good luck with restoring Democracy in the region. I did that once and it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. So, don't loose hope.

Unfortunately, I can't remember if that's all who posted here. Please forgive me!

So, friends, thanks again for your love and support. I will be able to update this thing and check e-mail about once a month from here on out. HOWEVER, if for some reason I have not posted in a while, it does not necessarily mean that you should worry about my safety. After all, I will be living literally next to the Indian Ocean which is prone to both Cyclones and, of late, tsunamis - both of which might have at least a temporary impact on communications in this developing nation. So, keep that in mind if you don't hear from me for a while.

Much love,
Stephen

French keyboards

2005-04-02T06:14:00.000-06:00

So here I am in a town called Moramanga and there's actually an internet store here! Wow! But it's hard to get the hang of these french keyboards. Things are going pretty well over here folks. I only have a few more weeks of training left and then I'll be a real Peace Corps volunteer - trying to make a small difference in the fate of the Masoala peninsula: its people and their forests. I really look forward to being out on my own to give this life a try for a little while. So, this is just a quick note to let everyone know that I am still alive over here. I miss having easy access to you folks and news from America. I can get BBC on the radio - but they like to talk about Zimbabwe, the Pope, the rediculous unemployment rate in Germany (12 percent!), all of which are important - but, you know - other stuff must be happening, too. Okay, I'll fill you in on my life soon, friends. Later! How are you people?

Back from Cap Est

2005-03-22T09:19:00.000-06:00

I have a tiny bit of computer time here. There seems to be a constant need for everybody to use this machine. Grrrr. I'm back in Tana from site visit. What an adventure. An amazing, skull rattling adventure to the Masoal Peninsula where ANGAP (Madagascar's Park Service) and WCS have created the largest protected area in Madagascar. It's in the northeast, hothumidsticky part of the country. I flew to Antalaha and was met at the airport by an education volunteer stationed there. He treated me to two days of fun at a beachside bungalow owned by a local family. 7 other volunteers showed up for their vacation and I got to meet all of them and enjoy a wonderful time there. I also got to see my banking town - the markets, the bank, the vanilla lords... On Friday I travelled by taxi brousse with my counterpart, a Malagasy man with at least three girlfriends. The road is only 35-40 km but took 3.5 hours. There are two stream crossings. The first is short and they drive the truck up onto a "bac" and pull it across by hand with a rope. The second is also a bac, but they pole it across with a bamboo pole. We rode across on a pirouge - a large dugout canoe with one person poling the thing across and another guy bailing out the water with a bucket! Cap Est is the eastern most part of the island and is very pretty. My house is pretty with banana trees and a nice little landscaped lawn enclosed with nice hedges which offer a little protection from the winds. I will by working on reforestation efforts on the buffer forests around the boundary of the park. I will spend much of my first months identifying trees and then collecting seeds to start these tree nurseries called pepinieres. I consider this to be a huge challenge with tremendous importance. The idea is that if we can educate the communities around the park to manage the buffer forests cooperatively, they will not eat away the forests and continue to harvest timber illegally within the boundaries of the park. It is estimated the 50% of Madagascar's species live within the park. It's really something special - nothing else like it in the entire world. So, I figure if I can at least plant some trees, there will have been a tangible improvement. It's crazy. What a taxi-brousse ride back to Antalaha. It kept breaking down and the driver fixed it by creating a new gas reservoir out of a water bottle! I wish I had time to describe the whole thing in detail. At one point I found myself walking down a dirt road on the coast of Madagascar in the twilight with 3 Malagasy men and one women - one of the men was carrying a dead chicken.

Anyway, I love you all and will not have access to computers for at least one month. Please send me some mail. That would be great... ;)

Mbola tsy maty

2005-03-15T13:50:00.000-06:00

Holy jeez I only have five minutes left for this post. I am in Tana and will be back here next Tuesday so I should be able to fill you all in on what's going on here in Madagascar. I am leaving tomorrow to spend about five days at my site (where I'll live for two years). I'll live in Cap Est on the Northeast coast of M'car on the Mashoala (sp?) peninsula. There is virgin rainforest, 10 lemur species, orchids, and my house is right on the beach and made of ravinala. I will travel there with my "counterpart" with whom I can barely communicate and live with him. He'll show me around and make sure that I don't get lost and then I fly back here next week to continue training - which is quite difficult, but going really well. I'm happy, but I miss all of you back home. I have a request - I need Rob's new address in Nashville, the Long Street address and anybody else who would like a letter. The beer is good here.

Bye for now,
Stephen

I Made It!

2005-02-17T00:31:00.000-06:00

We are at the Peace Corps house in Tana today. We're going to be holed up in this compound until about 3 today. I just had a rabies and hep shot. I am definitely jet lagged - probably have had about 5 hours of sleep in the past 48 hours or so - and they add all these shots on top of that that make you feverish. But we have Tylenol! And there are fun lizards here!

We left the US on Tuesday afternoon and got a series of shots and then took a bus through NYC. I had never seen so much of New York - Yankee Stadium, etc. It looks like it's as amazing as everyone says. We then boarded a plane after little wait and flew to Paris overnight. It was a cool flight - beautiful flying across Ireland and England. I saw the Eiffle Tower as we landed! We got confused with a shuttle bus and almost missed the plane to Tana in Paris. I have now been in Europe - if only for an hour! More on flying in a second....

We have a health, site, and language interview today. This is when I get to make the case for the perfect site. Flying over Africa was amazing and very long. We flew across France and out over the mediterranean sea - I think we saw either Corsica or one of those islands. We flew in over Egypt and then saw the Sahara. It was red and desolate like mars. Very odd. The massive plane we were in had tv screens on all the seats and great food. The French treat you right with wine, cheese, etc. My favorite channel was this sort of flight computer/GPS thing that updated flight speed and distance info, altitude and the like with several different perspective maps of the flight path. It was really fun to watch. Over Madagascar about 30 minutes from landing there was this amazing thunderstorm. We flew around the supercell and the lightining was really cool. The landing was great but my luggage was left in Paris with about 10 others people's. There was another plane in today and people are going to pick up the lost stuff.

We haven't seen Tana in the day. Last night at the airport the lights went out three times and there were a bunch of PCVs greeting us. Okay, at 3 we are off to Montasoa and I will not have internet for a little while. Be well all, and keep in touch.

I leave tomorrow morning.

2005-02-12T22:53:00.000-06:00

In the left corner, weighing in at 94 pounds, it's All My Junk in a large rolling suitcase and a huge duffle bag. In the right corner, weighing in at 175 pounds is Me, pulling my hair out, cursing, trying to figure out what I could possibly leave behind.

Let's get ready to rummmmmmmble!

Oh, All My Junk throws a left hook just beneath the chin of Me, Me turns and clobbers All My Junk with a mean blow to the gut and...
WOW! A TKO. Me conquers All My Junk by ditching the large rolling luggage, pulling out a large journal and a camera box! All My Junk is down for the count!

So, it's just turning midnight - turning into the 13th of February 2005. This is the day that I leave (in 7 hours) for staging in Philadelphia. There, I WILL eat a Philly Cheese Steak because it just seems like the right thing to do.

I have just spent the last several days working extremely diligently to complete all of the myriad complicated tasks that are required of a Peace Corps volunteer: canceling credit cards, dealing with the phone company, the 401k company, the Will, the Notaries Public, the bank account, the traveler's cheques, the.... you get the point, right? It really is a lot of work.

I spent last night with several wonderful friends here in Conway. They threw a party for me complete with these helium balloons with little factoids about Madagascar stuck to the strings. It was fantastic. I sucked helium from one of the balloons to alter my voice, of course. Who wouldn't?

Here's a quick list to thank everyone who has meant so much to me in this process of preparing for my journey: My wonderful parents (thank you soooo much for your love and support), all the incredible staff of The Nature Conservancy of Tennessee (and those I have met in other chapters and regional offices), Rob and the Pleasant Valley Boys, Midnight Chisel, Long Street Boys, Skip, Caleb, BradandAnna, Angie S, everybody at my Nashville party, Nashville Aikiki, Jesse and his incredible mother, all the Conway Boys, Jennie, Merlin the bestdogever, Dr. Lewis, all of my Nashville friends (you all are awesome), the Lyerlys (and girlfriend ;)), Mark A. and my Sewanee Second Family, Le and Family, Kate, Judy, and the special gift, Drs. Smith and Haskell, the wonderful people of St. Paul's Episcopal Conway, everyone else I am too tired to type out here, and lastly, the incredible and beautiful, talented and wonderful Canadian.

Thank you all and please keep in touch.

I am signing off for a little while. I have no way to know when I will have access to the internet again. I anticipate that I will have access at least by early April or so. (I think). Remember, in general, no news is good news. I will update this site as often as possible. I will miss all of my wonderful people stateside but will take with me memories and the hope of a reunion as soon as possible.

Godspeed, and talk to you all soon!

Five more days!

2005-02-08T09:40:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I decided to meticulously calculate the weight and approximate value of every item that I hope to bring with me on my two year journey to Madagascar. I have calculated the total weight of all objects to be 66.175 pounds plus the weight of a large piece of rolling luggage which I estimated to weigh about 10 pounds - so 77.175 pounds. This is great considering the weight limit for checked baggage alone is 80 pounds. My figure includes checked bags, carry-on bags, and objects worn during travel. So I am proud of myself! I have managed to fit everything in one large, rugged North Face duffel bag, one large piece of rolling luggage, and a Mountain Smith lumbar pack for the carry-on piece. I also have an Arc'teryx backpack stuffed in the duffel along with a tent and other backpacking gear for the many excursions I hope to take. How cool! And my ticket for staging came in the mail yesterday. 7am this Sunday to staging. Wow!

As promised in the posting below, I will now share a bit of my first experience in Canada...

I intended to travel to Canada on the 22nd of January to visit my girlfriend, who is in a masters program at the University of Toronto. On the evening of the 21st, just after my final day of work at the Nature Conservancy of Tennessee, I received an automated call from United Airlines explaining that bad weather had cancelled my flight through Chicago. So, I called United and got them to change my flight home a week later so as to keep the length of the trip to 7 days as planned.

The flights to Toronto were quite uneventful. Despite this, I managed to worry about every dip, change in engine noise, change in velocity, etc. I'm getting better, but the fact is, it's not normal for a humongous piece of metal to move in excess of 350 mph at 30,000 feet above the ground. I understand Bernoulli's principle (the pressure in a moving stream of fluid is less than the pressure in the surrounding fluid (thus the air beneath an airplane wing (high pressure) forces the wing up as it tries to fill into the low pressure area in the moving air)), but it still doesn't seem possible. Anyway, Toronto is a very interesting city. Despite the fact that I waited over 45 minutes to get my checked luggage, it was great to arrive in such an exciting and cold place.

My girlfriend was on the other side of the customs gate. It was wonderful to see her again. We waited for a bus that took us to a subway and then got on a street car to make it to her stop. The city has excellent public transportation, street cars on tracks included. She lives in a beautiful three level house on a street not unlike the row houses typical in Washington, D.C. The owner of the house is a professor at the University of Toronto but is on sabbatical at Yale.

1. Bags of Dog Poop.

Over the next several days of domestic bliss, I walked Louie, a geriatric Labrador. Louie has an odd method of excreting fecal matter. He likes to do this in at least three separate locations. It is necessary in the populated heart of Toronto to bring plastic bags with which to gather the fecal matter to dispose of it properly. Toronto has an excellent garbage, recycling, and composting program. Compost (like dog poop), is placed in small green buckets, which can be found at each house on any given street. Once you collect the poop, you run up to someone's porch, throw the poop in the bucket and run away. With these facts in mind, please imagine the following situation:

I am being pulled along by Louie in the slush of a very cold Toronto afternoon. The night before, it has snowed, leaving beautiful, untarnished powder on the street, sidewalk, and yards of the tightly packed row houses. Several homes out on this walk I notice a man coming toward me who seems to suffer from Turrett's syndrome or some other mental difference for he kept yelling things like, "FU#K!" or "GO#DAMMIT," at excessive volume. Being shy and rather impressionable, I hauled Louie to the other side of the street, where an African-Canadian and his daughter were coming toward me, presumably walking home from school. They both seemed concerned about the potential lunatic across the street. Louie commenced crapping right in front of a house in the painfully small front yard. A woman came outside of the home.

"Sorry," I said.

"That's okay, it happens," she said, displaying some well-placed Canadian forgiveness.

I placed my hand inside of a plastic bag and scooped up the steaming poop, the warmth of which contrasted with the cold of the snow.

"Look, he's picked up the dog's droppings!" The girl said to the father. I smiled and continued walking down the street with a bag of poop dangling from my left hand. You can't exactly sneak a bag of poop into a compost bin with so many people around, you see. I walked around the block and passed a few more people when Louie decides to pop a squat right in the middle of someone's newly swept walkway. I reached for a bag that was supposed to have remained in my pocket, which must have fallen out during the earlier crapping. Not knowing what to do, feeling flustered, and finding no stick with which to move the pile, I covered it with a bit of snow, placed the poop bag in the nearest green bin, and quickly shuffled back home. Life in the city!

Stay tuned for my next tidbit about U-Hauling in the Toronto snow!

2. U-Hauling in the Toronto Snow.

My girlfriend asked me very politely to help her move some items from a storage unit on the outskirts of Toronto to her new home. We boarded the public transit system after attending class and headed off for the U-Haul center. The previous night found us at an excellent natural food restaurant that left my girlfriend spending the morning groaning and vomiting - her body not agreeing with something that she ate. I felt a bit nervous riding around with a time-bomb, but she claimed to feel better.

We rode the subway for about half an hour and came out of the ground at a bus stop. At the top of the stairs, I could see alarm in her eyes. She curled her hand in a fist and placed it to her mouth - her own sign language, meaning "there's more on the way!"

"There's a trash can over there." I said, trying to be helpful. She ran to the can and began to let her body reject more of her dinner. I kindly looked away and tried at once to be concerned and to disassociate myself in the public eye. No one wants to be with the vomiting lady, you see. This worked out in the long run, because she prefers to handle these sorts of things on her own! We left a steaming trash can at the station and headed off by bus.

The bus let us out on a cold corner and we had to walk about a quarter mile over a bridge to the U-Haul center. Inside, a man was complaining to an employee.

"All your trucks are old and they have problems. The engines are ragged out, the doors don't shut."

"Well, sir, our corporate headquarters down in the US only sends us old vehicles from their fleet. We get all the American left-overs, so it's not really up to us whether or not the vehicles are in great shape. We deal with what we can." Suddenly feeling patriotic, I decided to defend my country and the absurdity of this statement by saying.... actually, I just chuckled to myself and said nothing.

We were given a really crappy leftover American small U-Haul truck which felt ragged out and had doors which were harder to open than to shut. Since I was with a sick person, I decided, with agreement from both parties, that I should drive.

At this point I should explain something (this will come as old news to most of my friends). I am from South Carolina and have spent the last 7.5 years in Tennessee. As a boy, I would gleefully hope for snow - any amount of which caused concerned county officials to shut down schools in Horry County. Fast forward to one snowy day in Nashville, TN, where I have been living since 2002, and you could find me sliding on a patch of ice on 25th avenue not knowing what to do as I careen toward a telephone pole and - DAMN IT! - slam right into it. So, I fit the national stereotype of Southernor Can't Drive in Snow. And I was about to do just that. In a "foreign country."

Now, this experience, while harrowing, taught me something interesting which I will get to in a moment.

I did fine on the highway and then began the trip on city streets. We weaved in and out of street cars, tried to get gas at a one-way gas station (never seen that before), stopped at another station that was "out of gas"(also never seen that before (but they had terrific bagels (another first - a gas station with terrific bagels))), pulled out into traffic with a fish-tailing rear end, asked the girlfriend if I could make a quick slide into the right lane... after hearing yes, got a resounding NO! in the form of a prolonged honk from the car I almost ran over, a turn down an unplowed side street as a dumptruck barreled toward us, and then, finally, after navigating an odd series of one way, barracaded streets meant to stop cars from speeding through neighborhoods, wound up at home.

I believe that it is not necessarily that Southernors don't know how to drive in the snow. I am not particularly full of Southern Pride, and I don't particularly believe that the South Will Rise Again, but I will defend those of us with the Southern moniker against bigots who perpetuate the bad snow driving myth for the following reasons:

1.Our snow is really slippery. Canadian snow is sort of dry.
2. Canadian snow falls and sticks around as snow for a lot longer because it stays cold up there longer. I mean COLD!
3. Our snow tends to fall, thaw as temparatures hover right over the freezing point, and then freeze again at night, leaving sheets of ice over everything.
4. We have limited salt trucks, snow-ploughs, etc. to aid motorists.
5. We have less experience.

Take that evil snow bigot people!

Robert Street is very narrow. Cars park on the right curb and pass to the left. We did our best to pull the little truck up on the curb and got it somewhat stuck on a snow bank. Screw it! we said and went in to warm up some bran muffins in the toaster. Less than a minute later a UPS truck needed to pass. We had to move the truck as the muffins cooled.

We pulled the truck into an alley and shoveled down the snow bank. Ater backing the truck up - we slammed it up on the sidewalk. Five minutes later a parking officer walked up to the back of the truck as I shoveled snow off of the steps.

"This yours?" He said.

"Yes sir. We are about to move all of its contents inside. We have no other place to park it, any suggestions?" I asked.

"Nope, just be quick." Phew! We were just that.

Next time - maybe a little about a delicious trip to Francophone Montreal.

A bientot!
-Stephen

Tidbits

2005-02-04T01:43:00.000-06:00

I have moved back to South Carolina. I left this morning from Nashville after I crammed all of my earthly possessions in a rented SUV and made the 9.5 hour trek - fueled by a tall cup of coffee - which I never drink. I actually get heart palpitations when I have caffeine. They aren't supposed to be dangerous. I had a few a bit ago when I was talking to my parents. It feels kind of like the moment when the roller coaster starts a fast decent straight down - except the feeling is where your heart is supposed to be instead of in your stomach. It can be exhilerating.

I can't wait to share with you some tidbits about my trip to Canada last week. It was so amazing... and quite cold. My parents were commenting on the "cold" 40F temperature here tonight. It was so cold in Canada that my NALGENE bottle began to freeze after a 30 minute walk! It was awesome. Somehow the cold up there isn't as bad as it is here. Here it sort of sticks to your skin. Anyway, I'm a bit too tired to carefully and artfully craft my Canadian stories, so I'll save that for tomorrow. This is funny to all of you reading this from the top down. You will be reading this second when you already read what I was just referring to. Heh heh.

Meanwhile, a scene from the Garrett residence - circa.... tonight.

My father is somewhat - or perhaps - throughly obsessed with music. He is extremely talented at reading music and plays the saxophone, flute, guitar, bass, and apparently, the harmonica. He also voraciously consumes new music through cds and tapes. This is quite delightful as some fathers are dull and dusty and are about as much fun to hang out with as a teeming mass of seed ticks. It seems that my father is coping with the anxiety of my upcoming Peace Corps service by focusing on what cds of mine he'll get to listen to while I am away. My mother, on the other hand, is coping by researching or consulting with every available text, website, government document, or expert that has ever existed concerning the topic of Madagascar. I am quite certain that she knows fives times more than I do about the sort of things that I might be witness to on the red island. I have just driven for 9.5 hours at an average speed of 78 mph on very little food and even less sleep. I am sitting at the end of the dining room table. My father is to my left, and my mother is across from him, which makes me seated at the right hand of my father.

"The thing, I guess that will be hardest for me is not being able to talk to you very often," says mom.

"My friend told me that..."

"What's this one?" Says dad, pointing to a cd in the massive cd book in front of him that he's been shuffling through during the conversation.

"That's a really good Pavement album, dad. Yeah, um. So my friend told me that you guys shouldn't expect any calls from me at first for quite a while. She says that 'no news is good news.'"

"Is this the Fugazi album that Rob suggested?"

"No, it's not that one. But it's really good. Loud and really energetic. I like it," I say.

"So, Stephen, how are you dealing with all of this? I mean, you've been through so much. Leaving work, visiting Canada. Are you doing well?"

"Ohhh. Ween's '12 Country Golden Hits!"

"Yeah, dad, that's a good one but I think the disk is in my other booklet which is still in the car. I'm doing well. I'm just sort of letting things happen as they do. It's like theatre, you study lines for as long as you can and then you have to get on stage and it just comes together, it just works. There's only so much you can prepare for for this sort of thing."

"What's this one?"
---------------
I love my parents! Stay tuned for stories about Canada (which you may have already read, you tricky reader!)

People are dying, enjoy your champagne.

2005-01-20T10:02:00.000-06:00

Sometimes as the sun is rising, a biological clock that has been largely repressed and replaced by the mechanical timepiece, rises my body to wake. I toss and turn underneath a quilt that an aunt from Maine gave me for graduation and fumble to turn on my shortwave radio to check the news. Often, at the same time I hear singing and turn down the radio. I live near a school and children walk near my house. There are usually 2 to 5 elementary-school aged African American children who sing as they trudge by. And I mean SINGING! At the top of their lungs. Sometimes, the oldest and tallest one will keep rhythm by clapping or stomping, and the little ones will chime in, intentionally off key. It is fantastic to hear these kids. I hope they get out all their singing before class, because it could be disruptive, but I say... Sing on, y'all. Don't stop.

Today the kids passed on down the street, their voices drowned out by the crunch of diesels driving by, and the wind-sound of passenger vehicles driving too fast. I fell into sleep again and came out of it just as news of today's inauguration was on NPR. The reporter was speaking of the incredible level of security at the event. And then he mentioned protesters. They have a tiny chance of being seen today, if they can all get in to the event. The Secret Service will not allow signs on poles. Only small signs. The National Mall has been lined with bleachers for supporters. This event will probably be the most elaborate inauguration in history. And why not? What with the war and all. Oh my country. My country.

People are dying, enjoy your champagne.

Ohhh! A new post!

2005-01-18T16:35:00.000-06:00

My favorite Yahoo News headline of the day was something like "Diabetes Linked to Reduced Prostate Cancer Risk." That sounds terrific!

I am currently wrapping up loose ends here at work (by writing in this journal?). My tasks of the week include training an unsuspecting colleague to cope with the perilous ways of the office. Good luck, friend. I will also be cleaning out my office, recycling scraps of paper, and exploring the space between the wall and the edge of my desk. I am sure to find something interesting down there.

I leave on Saturday for Toronto, Canada to spend a week with a most delightful young woman. We will be making a trip to Montreal by car to experience the center of North American franchophonism. I am quite excited as I have never been to Canada before. My mother's grandparents were French Canadian. In fact, they were Belanger's and changed their name to "Baker" when they emmigrated to the US. Belanger sounds sort of like boulangere which means baker in French. Interesting, no? Also, in Montreal, I will be meeting with an advisor at McGill University's Department of Geography. I am discussing options about graduate studies upon my return to North America in 2007.

Last weekend, my friends threw a going away party for me. It was a Sewanee-style bash complete with a keg of Pabst Blue Ribbon, music, and great fun. I had a terrific time exploring a recently discovered talent on the washtub bass. I love it. I thank everybody who could make it.

I have sold my truck, my bike, my camera, and several other things. On Saturday, the man who is buying my truck will drive me to the airport. How's that for a deal? I still have to clean the thing and it's been so cold here that I can't imagine getting out with a sponge and a bucket of water just yet! I'm a chicken.

I went to Sewanee recently to see some friends for the last time. One of my friends is a biology professor who has turned his backyard into a sort of small farm where he and his lovely wife raise ducks, goats, rabbits, and grow much of their food. It's really amazing. I admire their effort so very much. During our conversation, I was lamenting about potential homesickeness while I am away in Madagascar. My friend pointed toward my heart and said, "Your home is right there." How.... true. Ciao.

2005-01-11T17:15:00.000-06:00

Nice Hair!

Travel is Set

2005-01-11T17:05:00.000-06:00

I talked with the Peace Corps travel office today. My travel itinerary is set for my trip already! While specific details are to remain confidential, I will be on my way from South Carolina to Philadelphia on the morning of the 13th of February. I will spend two days there and leave for Antananarivo, Madagascar on the morning of the 15th via Paris. Unfortunately I will have only a two hour layover in Paris. I then have a 10 hour and 40 minute flight to "Tana." This is so exciting!

I am looking forward to having some friends in town this weekend. It should be really fun. And, one of my favorite local bands, The Dempseys, is playing here on Friday and Saturday. Yay!

A bientot-
Q

It's a good weekend

2005-01-08T09:12:00.000-06:00

It's Saturday morning, raining. I'm in my office at 8:36 working on the collection of music that will be accompanying me on my journey. This is a collection of albumns that my friend Rob suggested. Here's a few of them...

Gong - Continental Circus
Bert Jansch with John Renbourn - Jack Orion
AMM - Laminal disc 2, the great hall. Feb 20th, 1982
AMM - Laminal disc 3, May 3rd, 1994
The Incredible String Band - The Chelsea Sessions 1967
International Harvester - Sov Gott Rose-Marie
The Basement Tapes
Master Musicians of Bukkake
Sun City Girls - Touch of the mystics

This weekend I will make my final trip to Sewanee before I leave for the Peace Corps. I will say goodbye to a small town that has given me much comfort and hope for the past seven years.

It will be a good good-bye - one I have chosen on my own terms. The good-bye of graduation was a good-bye to many of the friends I had made during college, and a good-bye to classes. This is a good-bye to the place. But only for a little while.

I had my wisdom teeth out on Thursday. All in all it wasn't such a terrible experience. I must thank my roommate James for taking care of me during the process. I spent much of Thursday sleeping off the anesthesia and much of Friday groggy - my body trying to get rid of what must have been a massive dose of chemicals. I remember lying in the dentist's chair and I remember only a few other images of the day. Briefly - receiving a tooth in a small bag. Briefly, bits of the ride home. My bed. That's about it.

I have made some progress selling many of my material possessions. I am showing my Bianchi road bike to a guy this morning, and a Sewanee friend is interested in my truck. I have sold a guitar, some tables, a knife... maybe my speakers, a camera, and a bicycle trainer. It is strange to watch a stranger walk away with one of your things. But strangely satisfying...

A Happy New Year & 2004 Out with a BANG!

2004-12-31T13:58:00.000-06:00

I was on my way from a most wonderful visit with my girlfriend in Atlanta and my trusty truck, St. Francis, was out of gas. I pulled off at an exit near Darlington, South Carolina. St. Francis and I sidled up to a row of gas pumps underneath the ubiquitous gas station canopy.

A man of about my age came out of the storefront and began to kneel over some sort of device. I assumed that he was operating in some official capacity - perhaps testing the level of gasoline in an underground storage tank or some BOOOOOOM! A mortar style firework exploded from the... mortar tube that the man just ran from and flew out of my field of view into the open air. A red-pink glow illuminated the storefront.

"Jeez you scared me," I said to the man. He didn't respond and proceeded to prepare for another launch. I walked to the edge of the canopy and watched him fire two more shells. I went inside to pay for my fresh tank of gas.

"What's the deal with the firework guy," I asked, placing a package of peanut butter crackers and a chocolate milk on the counter. "

S'my bofriend. I told him not te do that thar. He's stupid. He said he's bored. Thursday night and nothing to do."

"Yeah, well he scared me," I said, paying for my purchase.

A nice dreadlocked man opened the door for me. I walked to my truck and pulled out the small notebook that I keep fuel efficiency records on. Just as I was about to write in it, I heard a muffled pop and felt an overwhelming sense of impending doom that somehow my brain automatically responded to by causing my nimble feet to propel me away from my truck and the gas tanks. As I turned to look, a mortar shell firework exploded right above my truck, underneath the canopy! It sent brilliant red sparks flying along random linear paths emanating en masse spherically from a center point - engulphing gas pumps, truck, and open air in a think cloud of grey smoke.

A man ran from his car the next set of pumps over and yelled. "You at a gotdam gas station man! Jeeeez. At a GAS STATION!"

Another man parked at the corner of the parking lot also yelled.

"You gonna blow up the whole damn world man. Are you crazy?" My heart raced and I collected my thoughts. No catastrophic explosion. No burns. I'm okay, we're okay.

Walking back to my truck, I waved at the idiot who nearly caused the tragedy who was cowering behind his girlfriend inside. Welcome back to South Carolina, I thought, and took off for home.

---------------Happy New Year Everyone! ----------------------

2004-12-30T11:42:00.000-06:00

Stephen in Helena, Montana

2004-12-16T17:55:00.000-06:00

Stephen L. Garrett

Le dentist

2004-12-16T17:31:00.000-06:00

The hygienist wore a ring of silver with a jewel of tasty gritty mint sauce on her left hand. She dipped a metal wand toward the ring and dabbled its tip toward the jewel, tapping three or four times before pressing the presto! button and engaging the tiny motor and gears so as to induce a whirling tip of container, sauce, and whine. The wand and its tip's contents rubbed away months of dental sin when pressed a-tooth. I found that my body was more relaxed during this particular exercise, a notable contrast to the previous one in which kind hygienist scraped heartily between each tooth, myself enduring the bone rattling scraping with the manliness of a toy poodle.

This visit is an extension of the wonderfully thorough Peace Corps medical screening process. I have already been cleared medically, thanks to my exceptional genetics or negligent primary care physician. Dentally, I was granted clearance after 7 painful fillings. I had never had fillings before, and boy was it a delight! The drilling! The smell of burning teeth! The pain numbing shots that were supposed to work! And then, the dentist who filled a wisdom tooth that he said he wanted to have pulled. When I asked him about the change in plans, he came up with a witty, quick response akin to the sort of thing you might expect of a sharp comedian on "Who's Line Is It Anyway?"

"Uh, we decided that the tooth was just fine and, it, uh, needed to just be filled."

Good one, doc. I switched dentists. Also, not desiring to fill more of my mouth with mercury amalgams (mercury ranks right behind either uranium or plutonium as the deadliest metal known to mankind), I requested "white fillings." They still require drilling and some strange metallurgical mixture of model cement, paint thinner, chalk, pork brains, and a blue light with a hue resembling a bug zapper that bakes and cures this mixture into a tooth-colored white that is apparently safe enough to sit in your mouth for the rest of your life. Much like how mixing lye, gasoline, and all those other things make crystal meth safe to consume. Oh, wait...

So I was at the dentist again today. This was the cleaning before the consultation before the final request from the Peace Corps. Wisdom teeth removal. Yay! I only have three left because I could only afford to have one pulled last year. And I couldn't afford the happy sleep shot. So I was awake, but pleasantly high on nitrous oxide. It still didn't drown out the sound of the smashing of my tooth and that terrible ripping noise that I still dream about. Yes, this time, I will be asleep.

So beware, my Peace Corps bound friends. They are thorough.

A day in the field....

2004-12-15T17:06:00.000-06:00

"Rekin' they used tee make whiskey thar," 86 year old Karney Williams said from the passenger seat of Mark Black's truck. It was the first thing he had said since the gruff and mumbled hello I got 20 minutes earlier when we shook hands this brisk teenaged morning in front of the Dover courthouse.

My colleague Tim and I were in Dover to meet with appraiser Black so that he could show us a property that may be donated as a year-end gift to the non-profit organization that I work for. Dover is near the "Land Between the Lakes," a recreation area managed largely by the Tennessee Valley Authority and presumably state and/or federal entities.

Tim and I were crammed in the back seat of the extended cab Chevy Zed-71 which Black referred to as "Red." We passed by several large clearcuts left by Meade-Westvaco, a timber company that is divesting thousands of acres of its land in Tennessee so rapidly that the conservation community can't keep up with it. Clear-cuts always shock the eye, especially on a drab, cold, leafless morning. And yet, I presume that the road-side buffer zones, trees left standing near creeks, and relative small size of the cuts are a blessing compared to what I may witness in Madagascar. The death of mass amounts of trees is not something that I appreciate, but I understand its necessity considering my habits of consumption, and, of course, the paper-dependent habits of the world's citizens. I am glad, despite the ugly appearance of the gashes that I saw, that here they are limited in scale. But I was a ground-level observer. Things look much different in aggregate from the eye of a bird. And in Madagascar?

"You know where the hell you goin'?," Williams implored of Black.

"I'm the son of a surveyor, spent a lot of time roamin' around these woods Karn-Karn, of course I know where I'm goin'. I'm goin' to where we're goin'."

Mr. Black warned us of the poor road quality near the site as he stopped Red to switch her into 4-wheel drive. We crunched up loose rocks to the top of a hill, and then down down down to the bottom, around and up again. Binoculars bounced off of the dash, a pile of appraisals slid from a seat, the truck rattled and shook. I held on to the back of the seat to keep my balance and calm my dizzy feverish head.

When I talked to my Peace Corps placement officer last week, she said that her brother lives very far out into the bush in Madagascar. In fact, it takes him 18 hours by bush taxi to get to the nearest sizeable town. 18 hours! My plush 20-minute ride in Red will be a pleasant memory.

We found the property and I was able to complete my site assessment. I have to finish the requisite paperwork by Friday so that I can be free to go on holiday for next week. I very much look forward to it.

"I'ma go back to that office and tell 'em you used the fo' wheel drive! I might not be around next time you try to take me out like that."

"What do you mean, Karn-Karn?"

"I'm just gonna stay in bed."

Be well, friends.

Entry One

2004-12-14T20:11:00.000-06:00

Welcome to my first online blog session. Here I am literally two months away from leaving for Madagascar. What kind of mess am I in? I am very excited, and spend most of my days dreaming of the things that I will be seeing over "there." And there is, of course, Madagascar. I will be serving as a Parks & Wildlife Volunteer with the Peace Corps and am supposed to ship out on 13 February 2005. If I make it, I will return to the US on mid-2007. I plan to backpack about Europe afterward, but that's a long way out at this point. Please visit this site periodically to check up on me - my psyche, my spelling mistakes, my adventures.

I was at the Tennessee Titans game last night, shivering, staring at a teaming mass of football fans and I couldn't focus on football. I could only focus on the amorphous blob of dendritic energy that is my anxiety about the concept of Madagascar. I was focusing on that and a wonderful woman that I recently met who happens to be from Canada. It would be just like the God-powered mathmatical formulae that govern the twists of my lifefate to introduce me to an amazing soul.... an adventurer, an intellectual, a chef of high skill, a world traveller, a beauty. And just before leaving for two years. I will be off to see her in Atlanta this weekend and then on to my mum and dad's in South Carolina for Christmas. And we are planning for a week in Canada just before I leave. What a ride life is!

Last night I got a chance to talk to a Sewanee pal of mine, Susannah. She spent about 9 months in the PC in Madagascar before being evacuated for a political crisis. She was very helpful and told me several very useful things about my new and pending life there. Slowly, I am adjusting at least to the idea.

I am currently in the process of burning my entire collection of cds onto my new iPod photo. It's really cool - 40gb of space. I plan to purchase a little Belkin device that will allow me to store my photos directly to the iPod via a usb cable. It stinks that you can't see the pictures without synching to a computer, but at least I will be able to carry some pictures of friends and family and use it as a storage device. I will also be acquiring a solar charger in the likely case that I will be living without electricity. So much to think about!

This is it for this entry. Be well my friends, and please stay in touch with me throughout this process. I don't know what my access to the internet will be like once I am gone, but I will do my best to update this blog as often as possible