Some animals are actually alive!!!
It's been such an eventful week that this week seems to warrant two blogs.
Yesterday was the winter solstice here - the longest night - and also the two year anniversary of my first date with Justin. We celebrated by going whale watching, and actually seeing a whale!
We took a pirogue over to Nosy Hau (the island just west of Andavadoaka) and sat on the purpose-built whale watching platform looking out to sea. The platform is about eight metres high and is on the south west of the island. Behind it, there are great views of the whole of the island - and beyond to Andavadoaka. In front, there is the reef flat, and beyond that the deep channel.
We scoured the horizon for a good 90 minutes. Every time I saw a pirogue or a white-cap, I
looked closer to make sure that was what it was. Then, I saw something unusual - a spout!!!! I asked Justin for confirmation, and yes, he confirmed that it was indeed a spout. Shortly after that we both saw the iconic sight of the whale's tail. After a few sightings of this, that was it. The whale had dived back under and we did not see it again. It might have been far off. It might have been tiny in comparison to the large sea in front of us but it was most definitely a whale - probably a humpback - and absolutely
definitely alive. Hoorah!
In the afternoon, the village took part in a 'theatre competition' initiated by Becks, our medic. The idea was to get a number of different groups to write and perform a play about STDs and using condoms and was inspired by the success of the play that BV has now put on twice.
Becks was terribly worried as there didn't seem to be many entrants. In fact there were only two. However, there was a good audience turnout - mostly of children it has to be said. I think there must have been about 100 of them - maybe more - and about 50 adults. The first play was almost identical to the BV "Captain Kapote" play - even down to the cross dressing theme with girls playing male characters and boys playing girls. When the young female character came out from behind Club Alo Alo the audience laughed for a good five minutes without stopping. With very tight jeans (complete with thong showing over the top of them) over his slim legs, a tight t-shirt with fake breasts underneath and pigtails, the vezu man made a very good woman. The audience thought it was hysterical and he really played up to the crowd. The crowd also loved the characters of the two drunk nahodas as well and the play finished with a song.
The second play was less obviously comical though the characters were all familiar as they were all supposed to be well-known members of the community and BV including Bic, Georgi, Farah (from Coco Beach) and Becks our doctor. This story was a bit more realistic and
involved the director of a big fish company sleeping with all the women in the village (including Georgi and Farah) but not using condoms, so that they all got sick.
Unfortunately, the audience got extremely distracted about three quarters of the way through, and in fact, more than half the children ran off into the village when the street lamps turned themselves on for the first time.
Yes, Andavadoaka - not on the national grid (or any grid at all) - now has its own street lights. Five of them to be precise. Powered by solar panels, they were erected over the last two days and funded by the money that the village received from the Equator Prize which they were awarded last year. Eventually, many families in the village would own their own battery which would then get charged up by the solar street lamps. So, as you can imagine, there was much excitement when they were turned on.
Back at Club Alo Alo, the second play finished and the judging began. The judges - Gildas, Becks, Garth and Mr Roger decided that though the second play was the more original, the first ended on a song and had more inventive costumes and so was awarded the first prize.
The shortest day was topped off by a sur boom (organised party) in the village organised by the women's association. BV staff and volunteers all went down to Chez Leon's - the epi-bar on the main street - and joined many women from the association, a few of the village nahodas and various other community members in the epi-bar. As we were there by official invitation, the curfew was lifted which made the evening much more relaxing for me as it meant that I didn't have to keep clock-watching to make sure that everyone left by 12. I managed to keep going until nearly 1. I think the last volunteer left by about 3.30 but I suspected that some of the village were still dancing past that.
Most volunteers really love the epi-bar nights. I much prefer organised events like this one when fahazar (tourists) are in the minority and where the attendees are from the whole community rather than just being teenage boys, very drunk fishermen and Floretta.
Unusually, Floretta wasn't actually there last night, and her shakey arse was definitely missed. I danced to more than a few tunes and it was really great to see a range of women from the village out dancing and having fun. I left just before 1 and walked back along the main street lit by solar street lamps and then back through poo beach, lit just by the almost full moon.
Though it was the 'shortest day' I think it has been one of the most eventful and is one of those days where I feel extremely happy to be here and to have had this experience.
Wildlife update: This morning, the group of volunteers plus staff members Louis, Justin and Al went out on a night dive. I had volunteered to shore marshal so woke up with Justin at 4am. They were held up for one reason or another and did not get out to the dive site until about 5.30ish. Anyway, to cut a long story short, they all had an amazing dive and got out to see about 12 whales not far from the boat - playing, jumping, breaching and
whatever else whales do. They got about 50 metres away from them and all came back glowing, saying it was the best morning of their lives. I am only a little sore that I woke up at 4am to NOT see any whales close up, but glad at least of my superdooper binoculars as when I was looking out for the boats - literally on the horizon, I actually spotted a whale breach and create an almighty splash on its way down. A small compensation for not being as close to them as the divers. But a compensation none the less.
Tuesday 24 June 2008
Conflicts and contradictions
I seem to be full of contradictions. We are nearing the end of expedition 38 and also therefore, the end of our 10 month contract, as the next expedition will be our last. On the one hand, I can't wait for it to be over. I'm excited about travelling around Madagascar, and about seeing what happens to my life once I get back.
On the other hand, I'll be very sad to leave here, sad to say goodbye and it will be strange not to be living in a one-room hut by the sea any more. Generally, though, the positive emotion about being near the end is stronger than the negative emotions about leaving it behind.
I've also been wanting to avoid scuba diving as much as possible as the water is now 22 degrees centigrade, which is cold for tropical diving. At the same time, I'm also feeling that I want to log as many dives as possible while it is so easily accessible and part of my job. While I want to make the most of being in a marine environment on the one hand, I keep putting it off because it's too cold for morning swims.
This group has been quite young and on the whole, quite, dare I say it, bland. Yet, they've been pleasant to be around and easy to manage. So, on the one hand, I'm looking forward to a new group with older volunteers and a mix of nationalities. Yet the next group has 27 volunteers and researchers, which is so large, I'm also not looking forward to managing it. I'm getting used to the fact that it's possible to want two completely different things at the same time. At least this way, I'll be happy whatever happens. Or I could be unhappy whatever happens I suppose, I guess it depends on whether I'm in a glass is half full mood or a half empty one.
As well as being full of conflicts and contradictions - which isn't really that much different to usual - I've been interviewing some women from the village women's association. Mainly, it's to get some background about the WA but it's also with a view of maybe writing an article at some point about them.
I found it quite a frustrating experience - Lalao's English doesn't really capture the subtelties or complexities as well as I would have liked. It is her third language after all. Sometimes, I'd ask a question which she'd translate into Malagasy. The two women would talk, laugh with each other and be animated in Malagasy, and then Lalao would turn back to me and either say something like "yes" or maybe "no" or ask me to repeat the question! It's not the first time I wished that I'd been able to learn the language. However, I did in the end manage to interview three women (and will be interviewing three more).
I think I really really appreciated for the first time just how important the volunteer revenue is to the women here. The village largely depends on the sea for its income and, indeed, its sustenance. But the marine resources are depleting rapidly and the fishermen have to go out fishing for longer and need to go further away. For many women, the situation is even bleaker. With fewer octopus around for them to glean, their options for earning money are pretty reduced. For many women - especially those with children, and no husband - the money they earn from selling souveniers to BV tourists is therefore vital for their survival as it gives them ready cash which they can use to buy essentials.
The WA president is a wealthy woman in comparison to many in the village - she has her own business (collecting salt) and her husband is also an owner of one of the village epi-bars. She told me that women using men for money (effectively, prostitution) was one of their only options and that she wanted the WA to be able to offer them an alternative to this. I wanted to find out how many women in the village had children but no husband and were in this situation but unfortunately, no one is able to tell me.
Clarice, one of the women I spoke to, lives in a one-room rattan hut on the beach with her three children (and no husband). She is 33. The room is just large enough for her bed (in which they all must sleep), a tiny table and a couple of chairs. The holes in the rattan walls have been repaired by cardboard and there are holes in the roof. She is unable to embroider at night because the wind blows out her gas lamp. It's no wonder then that the women's main goal with the association funds is to build themselves a concrete building to work and meet in.
With only one expedition left, it's unlikely that I'll get to see them earn enough profits for their dream building. However, I hope to continue somehow with my involvement with the WA even after I return home. Even if I don't manage to accomplish much from the UK I do think that I'll leave here knowing that the work I've done so far with them has been positive and made a real difference to their lives.
Following on from last week's slightly morbid theme of dead animals I am sad to report that Coco Beach has three fewer cats than it had before. Al (one of the big cheeses from the UK office) is here for his PhD research and apparently had a word with the Coco Beach staff about the cats begging at mealtimes. The next day, three of the cats mysteriously disappeared, last seen being put into a bag. Past volunteers reading this might want to look away NOW if they don't want to know that Gummy and Levi, two of the friendliest and most domestic of the cats, are no more. Let's hope that next week's blog ends on a happier note.
On the other hand, I'll be very sad to leave here, sad to say goodbye and it will be strange not to be living in a one-room hut by the sea any more. Generally, though, the positive emotion about being near the end is stronger than the negative emotions about leaving it behind.
I've also been wanting to avoid scuba diving as much as possible as the water is now 22 degrees centigrade, which is cold for tropical diving. At the same time, I'm also feeling that I want to log as many dives as possible while it is so easily accessible and part of my job. While I want to make the most of being in a marine environment on the one hand, I keep putting it off because it's too cold for morning swims.
This group has been quite young and on the whole, quite, dare I say it, bland. Yet, they've been pleasant to be around and easy to manage. So, on the one hand, I'm looking forward to a new group with older volunteers and a mix of nationalities. Yet the next group has 27 volunteers and researchers, which is so large, I'm also not looking forward to managing it. I'm getting used to the fact that it's possible to want two completely different things at the same time. At least this way, I'll be happy whatever happens. Or I could be unhappy whatever happens I suppose, I guess it depends on whether I'm in a glass is half full mood or a half empty one.
As well as being full of conflicts and contradictions - which isn't really that much different to usual - I've been interviewing some women from the village women's association. Mainly, it's to get some background about the WA but it's also with a view of maybe writing an article at some point about them.
I found it quite a frustrating experience - Lalao's English doesn't really capture the subtelties or complexities as well as I would have liked. It is her third language after all. Sometimes, I'd ask a question which she'd translate into Malagasy. The two women would talk, laugh with each other and be animated in Malagasy, and then Lalao would turn back to me and either say something like "yes" or maybe "no" or ask me to repeat the question! It's not the first time I wished that I'd been able to learn the language. However, I did in the end manage to interview three women (and will be interviewing three more).
I think I really really appreciated for the first time just how important the volunteer revenue is to the women here. The village largely depends on the sea for its income and, indeed, its sustenance. But the marine resources are depleting rapidly and the fishermen have to go out fishing for longer and need to go further away. For many women, the situation is even bleaker. With fewer octopus around for them to glean, their options for earning money are pretty reduced. For many women - especially those with children, and no husband - the money they earn from selling souveniers to BV tourists is therefore vital for their survival as it gives them ready cash which they can use to buy essentials.
The WA president is a wealthy woman in comparison to many in the village - she has her own business (collecting salt) and her husband is also an owner of one of the village epi-bars. She told me that women using men for money (effectively, prostitution) was one of their only options and that she wanted the WA to be able to offer them an alternative to this. I wanted to find out how many women in the village had children but no husband and were in this situation but unfortunately, no one is able to tell me.
Clarice, one of the women I spoke to, lives in a one-room rattan hut on the beach with her three children (and no husband). She is 33. The room is just large enough for her bed (in which they all must sleep), a tiny table and a couple of chairs. The holes in the rattan walls have been repaired by cardboard and there are holes in the roof. She is unable to embroider at night because the wind blows out her gas lamp. It's no wonder then that the women's main goal with the association funds is to build themselves a concrete building to work and meet in.
With only one expedition left, it's unlikely that I'll get to see them earn enough profits for their dream building. However, I hope to continue somehow with my involvement with the WA even after I return home. Even if I don't manage to accomplish much from the UK I do think that I'll leave here knowing that the work I've done so far with them has been positive and made a real difference to their lives.
Following on from last week's slightly morbid theme of dead animals I am sad to report that Coco Beach has three fewer cats than it had before. Al (one of the big cheeses from the UK office) is here for his PhD research and apparently had a word with the Coco Beach staff about the cats begging at mealtimes. The next day, three of the cats mysteriously disappeared, last seen being put into a bag. Past volunteers reading this might want to look away NOW if they don't want to know that Gummy and Levi, two of the friendliest and most domestic of the cats, are no more. Let's hope that next week's blog ends on a happier note.
Tuesday 17 June 2008
Island life and Rats!
Been quite an eventful week this week. Justin and I took a little trip away to a small island 8km north west of here called Andramambala. This small, very sandy island is home to two tiny settlements of about 5 houses each and a few families live in each settlement. We took a pirogue there and back, and yet again were reminded about the importance of wind direction when it comes to travelling (oh, wouldn't Virgin Trains love that as an excuse).
It took us just over an hour to get there on Friday with a favourable southerly, and nearly three hours to get back, with barely a breeze at all.
It was a great visit. We were walked around the island when we arrived - just as the sun was setting. We were with two volunteers and we slept out on one of the dunes close to a fire which one of the villagers had constructed for us. We ate rice and fish along with some of the villagers, and about three of the young men came to our fire and played the guitar for us. I say guitar. It was actually a three stringed, home-made instrument - constructed from wood, drawing pins (instead of frets), nylon fishing wire for strings, and staples holding the wood together. Quite ingenious, and surprisingly effective.
We slept well considering the chilly winter air, and I opened my eyes on Saturday morning, looked out to the sea and saw the sun coming up over the horizon. We had some fresh bok bok for breakfast, along with the weirdest tasting coffee ever. There is no fresh water on the island - they have to import it - and the water they cook with is quite salty. They disguise this fact with the coffee by adding copious amounts of sugar. As you can imagine, it wasn't particularly palatable. I drank half a cup to be polite.
After this, we walked around looking at the fresh fish that had been caught that morning - and sharks too. Two tiny hammerhead sharks by one family, and a slightly larger shark, by another. Sadly these are the only sharks I have seen in nine months.
The routine appears to be that the men (and some women too) go out early in their pirogues, catch fish, and then collectively, they spend the day gutting, splitting, salting and drying them. They are no longer just subsistence fishing, and sell the dried fish to one of the fish companies which sells them on in Tulear.
It was fascinating watching the process. The troughs to dry the fish out in are just hollowed out wooden tree trunks - much like their pirogues in fact - and large turtle shells are where the fish have salt rubbed into them, before being placed into the troughs. After a night or so in the troughs, they are put out onto the hut roof to dry.
The island was also for me, a reminder of how prosperous Andavadoaka is in comparison to many of the fishing communities along the coast and on the islands. There is no well, no shop, no school and no epi-bar. Nothing, in fact, apart from the tiny huts - some not more than 5 foot high - a number of pirogues and a few home-made guitars to while away the spare time. Of which, there must be quite a bit really.
I tried for a while to imagine what my life would be like if I lived in a community as tiny as this, on an island so remote and so small. I failed.
After we snorkeled for a bit on one of the reefs, and watched two guys spear fishing (sadly, successfully), it was time to pirogue back the 8 miles to Andavadoaka.
My other news is that the rat, which was keeping us awake at night by rifling through our food and belongings, is now dead. One night, it had the audacity to drag a pot of almonds half way across the room before Justin got up and took it off him/her. Anyway, the next day, Justin managed to catch it in a box and borrowed my dive knife in order to kill it! I was slightly horrified at the idea, but the rat managed to get out somehow and thus
escaped a messy death by dive knife.
However, its reprieve was short-lived as Gildas dropped off a rat trap, and thanks to a dried apple ring (courtesy of Liz and before that Neal's Yard), it was lured in overnight and dead by the morning. Justin was overjoyed and took photos. I was just glad that
nights will be restful again, but had mixed feelings about being responsible for the death of an animal. Even if it was a rat.
Other than being a rat-killer, I have been trying to get lots of admin tasks done before the end of this expedition. This is because the next expedition is not only my last, it'll be the biggest we've managed yet. I don't anticipate any spare time for all those little jobs that I've been putting off for the past two months.
We're all a bit scared by the volume of volunteers and 'independents' that we're expecting actually. But I'm trying not to think about it or the rat's death will have been futile and I'll be up all night worrying anyway.
Wildlife update: the sunbirds are back. Haven't seen them for months. They're flitting about the place singing and looking decorative and petite.
The yellow beaked kite is also back - my favourite friend. It has been absent since Christmas.
It took us just over an hour to get there on Friday with a favourable southerly, and nearly three hours to get back, with barely a breeze at all.
It was a great visit. We were walked around the island when we arrived - just as the sun was setting. We were with two volunteers and we slept out on one of the dunes close to a fire which one of the villagers had constructed for us. We ate rice and fish along with some of the villagers, and about three of the young men came to our fire and played the guitar for us. I say guitar. It was actually a three stringed, home-made instrument - constructed from wood, drawing pins (instead of frets), nylon fishing wire for strings, and staples holding the wood together. Quite ingenious, and surprisingly effective.
We slept well considering the chilly winter air, and I opened my eyes on Saturday morning, looked out to the sea and saw the sun coming up over the horizon. We had some fresh bok bok for breakfast, along with the weirdest tasting coffee ever. There is no fresh water on the island - they have to import it - and the water they cook with is quite salty. They disguise this fact with the coffee by adding copious amounts of sugar. As you can imagine, it wasn't particularly palatable. I drank half a cup to be polite.
After this, we walked around looking at the fresh fish that had been caught that morning - and sharks too. Two tiny hammerhead sharks by one family, and a slightly larger shark, by another. Sadly these are the only sharks I have seen in nine months.
The routine appears to be that the men (and some women too) go out early in their pirogues, catch fish, and then collectively, they spend the day gutting, splitting, salting and drying them. They are no longer just subsistence fishing, and sell the dried fish to one of the fish companies which sells them on in Tulear.
It was fascinating watching the process. The troughs to dry the fish out in are just hollowed out wooden tree trunks - much like their pirogues in fact - and large turtle shells are where the fish have salt rubbed into them, before being placed into the troughs. After a night or so in the troughs, they are put out onto the hut roof to dry.
The island was also for me, a reminder of how prosperous Andavadoaka is in comparison to many of the fishing communities along the coast and on the islands. There is no well, no shop, no school and no epi-bar. Nothing, in fact, apart from the tiny huts - some not more than 5 foot high - a number of pirogues and a few home-made guitars to while away the spare time. Of which, there must be quite a bit really.
I tried for a while to imagine what my life would be like if I lived in a community as tiny as this, on an island so remote and so small. I failed.
After we snorkeled for a bit on one of the reefs, and watched two guys spear fishing (sadly, successfully), it was time to pirogue back the 8 miles to Andavadoaka.
My other news is that the rat, which was keeping us awake at night by rifling through our food and belongings, is now dead. One night, it had the audacity to drag a pot of almonds half way across the room before Justin got up and took it off him/her. Anyway, the next day, Justin managed to catch it in a box and borrowed my dive knife in order to kill it! I was slightly horrified at the idea, but the rat managed to get out somehow and thus
escaped a messy death by dive knife.
However, its reprieve was short-lived as Gildas dropped off a rat trap, and thanks to a dried apple ring (courtesy of Liz and before that Neal's Yard), it was lured in overnight and dead by the morning. Justin was overjoyed and took photos. I was just glad that
nights will be restful again, but had mixed feelings about being responsible for the death of an animal. Even if it was a rat.
Other than being a rat-killer, I have been trying to get lots of admin tasks done before the end of this expedition. This is because the next expedition is not only my last, it'll be the biggest we've managed yet. I don't anticipate any spare time for all those little jobs that I've been putting off for the past two months.
We're all a bit scared by the volume of volunteers and 'independents' that we're expecting actually. But I'm trying not to think about it or the rat's death will have been futile and I'll be up all night worrying anyway.
Wildlife update: the sunbirds are back. Haven't seen them for months. They're flitting about the place singing and looking decorative and petite.
The yellow beaked kite is also back - my favourite friend. It has been absent since Christmas.
Tuesday 10 June 2008
Back in Andava
Well, I'm back on site after two weeks away. It was quite an epic journey to get back. A one-hour delay in Manchester airport meant that I finally arrived in Tana, Madagascar 24 hours late.
Air France were all "it's not our responsibility" and rerouted me via Reunion, leaving me with a 10 hour wait in Paris, 10 hours in Reunion and an extra flight from Reunion to Tana.
Ridiculous. At least it wasn't too much of a palava once in Madagascar. My little plane left Tana on Friday after only a short delay. The twin-engine otter plane flies pretty low and the views of Madagascar below were pretty spectacular. Tall baobab trees tower over the pastel green scrub forests.
These baobabs, unlike the ones near us in Andava have thin, silver trunks which, like all baobabs, are naked. Just their green bushy heads stretching outwards and upwards begging for the sunlight. They're mostly singly dotted around the forest, or there are small patches of them where they meet to converse. It's cliched to call them majestic, but looking down from the plane, that's how they appear, giants of the arboral kingdom, gazing down at the forest below them.
As we flew over the sea, there was a lone white pirogue sail, looking like a tiny handkerchief dropped onto the sea.
I was glad to be back. Nothing too amiss appears to have occurred during my absence. Whale watching has begun, though no whales sighted as yet. We're also sending out volunteers to stay up all night guarding the turtle nest in a village called Lamboara. But as yet, no baby turtles have emerged. Soon, we hope. Fingers' crossed.
Previously I've written a lot about how different Andavadoaka is compared to home, and now after having spent 10 days back home in the UK, I've also come up with a few observations about what is different about the UK compared to here. Here are a few of them:
There are a lot more old people around. This thought did come to me while I was in M&S however!
In fact, it's noticeable that they actually are some old people.
There aren't many children around in comparison.
It's highly possible that the ratio of children to adults and 'old people' to adults is reversed with a ten to one ratio in Andava in favour of children and possibly the same in reverse for old people in the UK.
I also noticed that people are a lot fatter in the UK than they are here.
Of course, I also noticed lots of other, more expected things - such as the level of advertising around and how much crap telly there seemed to be. And the fact that the world is going to hell in a handbasket - something that you just don't hear about here by virtue of the fact that there's no tv or radio or newspapers. I definitely have to admit that it's much less stressful to live in ignorance. Preferably forced ignorance like here as I managed to get angry at least half a dozen times while listening to the news or glimpsing a newspaper.
I also noticed that people aren't very good at Be ing on public transport. They aren't yet at the stage where they'll talk to each other. Instead they'll talk on their mobile phones, play games on them or listen to music on headphones. Anything, in fact, rather than having to talk to the people around them or to sit in silence alone. Anything really, rather than just sitting and 'be-ing'. This is a stark contrast to what it's like sitting on a pirogue for four hours where you can do nothing BUT be. Of course this may be because it's preferable to look out at the sea than it is to look out at Upper Chorlton Road but the train journey from London to Manchester really isn't THAT bad.
Finally, it seems to me that people laugh less in the UK than they seem to here. They also don't smile as much at each other. And despite (or maybe because) having satellite television, an abundance of available fruit and vegetables, breakfast cereal, fairtrade chocolate, microwaves, fresh juice bars, mobile phones, digital watches (hello Douglas Adams), reality television, celebrity magazines, New Scientist, Starbucks, chocolate cake,
Sex in the City, shoe shops, shoes, crap films, 24 hour news channels, fast food and faster cars... People just don't seem particularly happy. Or if they are, they just keep it well-hidden. I'm not the first person to have observed this. I won't be the last. And I'll sign off this week with this well-worn cliche - is it so preferable to have all this stuff? Is giving up smiling at strangers and not-laughing the price we have to pay for it? Which is really the richer society? The one which can laugh and smile through life, or the miserable one with all the stuff? And if I'm concluding all this, why then do I still look forward to getting back to Manchester at the end of my stay here, rather than jacking it all in and living permanently in this little village by the sea? Answers on the back of a postcard....
Air France were all "it's not our responsibility" and rerouted me via Reunion, leaving me with a 10 hour wait in Paris, 10 hours in Reunion and an extra flight from Reunion to Tana.
Ridiculous. At least it wasn't too much of a palava once in Madagascar. My little plane left Tana on Friday after only a short delay. The twin-engine otter plane flies pretty low and the views of Madagascar below were pretty spectacular. Tall baobab trees tower over the pastel green scrub forests.
These baobabs, unlike the ones near us in Andava have thin, silver trunks which, like all baobabs, are naked. Just their green bushy heads stretching outwards and upwards begging for the sunlight. They're mostly singly dotted around the forest, or there are small patches of them where they meet to converse. It's cliched to call them majestic, but looking down from the plane, that's how they appear, giants of the arboral kingdom, gazing down at the forest below them.
As we flew over the sea, there was a lone white pirogue sail, looking like a tiny handkerchief dropped onto the sea.
I was glad to be back. Nothing too amiss appears to have occurred during my absence. Whale watching has begun, though no whales sighted as yet. We're also sending out volunteers to stay up all night guarding the turtle nest in a village called Lamboara. But as yet, no baby turtles have emerged. Soon, we hope. Fingers' crossed.
Previously I've written a lot about how different Andavadoaka is compared to home, and now after having spent 10 days back home in the UK, I've also come up with a few observations about what is different about the UK compared to here. Here are a few of them:
There are a lot more old people around. This thought did come to me while I was in M&S however!
In fact, it's noticeable that they actually are some old people.
There aren't many children around in comparison.
It's highly possible that the ratio of children to adults and 'old people' to adults is reversed with a ten to one ratio in Andava in favour of children and possibly the same in reverse for old people in the UK.
I also noticed that people are a lot fatter in the UK than they are here.
Of course, I also noticed lots of other, more expected things - such as the level of advertising around and how much crap telly there seemed to be. And the fact that the world is going to hell in a handbasket - something that you just don't hear about here by virtue of the fact that there's no tv or radio or newspapers. I definitely have to admit that it's much less stressful to live in ignorance. Preferably forced ignorance like here as I managed to get angry at least half a dozen times while listening to the news or glimpsing a newspaper.
I also noticed that people aren't very good at Be ing on public transport. They aren't yet at the stage where they'll talk to each other. Instead they'll talk on their mobile phones, play games on them or listen to music on headphones. Anything, in fact, rather than having to talk to the people around them or to sit in silence alone. Anything really, rather than just sitting and 'be-ing'. This is a stark contrast to what it's like sitting on a pirogue for four hours where you can do nothing BUT be. Of course this may be because it's preferable to look out at the sea than it is to look out at Upper Chorlton Road but the train journey from London to Manchester really isn't THAT bad.
Finally, it seems to me that people laugh less in the UK than they seem to here. They also don't smile as much at each other. And despite (or maybe because) having satellite television, an abundance of available fruit and vegetables, breakfast cereal, fairtrade chocolate, microwaves, fresh juice bars, mobile phones, digital watches (hello Douglas Adams), reality television, celebrity magazines, New Scientist, Starbucks, chocolate cake,
Sex in the City, shoe shops, shoes, crap films, 24 hour news channels, fast food and faster cars... People just don't seem particularly happy. Or if they are, they just keep it well-hidden. I'm not the first person to have observed this. I won't be the last. And I'll sign off this week with this well-worn cliche - is it so preferable to have all this stuff? Is giving up smiling at strangers and not-laughing the price we have to pay for it? Which is really the richer society? The one which can laugh and smile through life, or the miserable one with all the stuff? And if I'm concluding all this, why then do I still look forward to getting back to Manchester at the end of my stay here, rather than jacking it all in and living permanently in this little village by the sea? Answers on the back of a postcard....
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