The hotel that we had chosen was fully booked so the driver took us onto another place that was in our guide book. We were able to get a double room with a cold shower. mosquito net, toilet and ceiling fan. Unfortunately we couldn't get anything to eat and had to make do with the small cake we were given on the plane. There were several retirement aged Frenchmen playing cards and drinking beer outside our room and there was a small group of very young girls with them. Sex tourists from France are a really big problem here in Madagascar. Luckily with the noise from the ceiling fan we were able to get to sleep without hearing the party noises.
The hotel opened onto a concreted area that was used for parking vehicles and was nicely laid out with gardens and fruit trees even though it was a tiny place. No one spoke English so we muddled along in broken French. In the morning we weren't able to get breakfast so headed off down the street looking for something to eat as we were pretty hungry. A young local lad who wanted to practise his English asked us if we wanted any help. He followed us pushing his bicycle to several restaurants but none were open for breakfast. Finally we settled on a Tea Salon. That was pretty much all they had to offer. So we had tea and coffee with condensed milk and some French style butter biscuits, and dry croissants. I don't know how they can make any money with so few items for sale, but they seemed to.
Managed to find a supermarket and stock up on some supplies to take with us as it seems there are often power cuts and not always somewhere to eat when we need to. We had to empty our fuel bottle before flying so we bungled along trying to work out what the French word was for the fuel we wanted and when we took the empty bottle to a shop keeper to smell, he was able to tell us where to go and what it was called. So we now would be able to cook up food if we needed it. The locals don't use gas at all for cooking and almost everyone uses charcoal which they put into small metal containers and light up on the sides of the street.
The only transport for getting to the taxi brousse (bush taxi) station was the pousse pousse (rickshaw). We hired two of these and the barefooted men raced us off to get a bush taxi. It was quite a long drive and it was pretty hot by the time we were ready to go. It is pretty hard for us having to accept someone pull you along in such a contraption but there was no choice and it provides a pollution free alternative to the smoky diesel vehicles on the road and it is also a great way for the locals to get employment. At all times of the day there will be crowds of rickshaw drivers assembled outside restaurants, bus stations, the markets and hotels ready to do a deal with you to take you where ever you want to go. The particular rickshaws we saw in Tulear look like they have come from India. You have to lean uncomfortable back in a semi reclined position and it felt to me like I may even tip the rickshaw right over.
We arrived at a dusty, rubbish strewn place where there were dozens of vehicles of all kinds. The only thing they had in common was that they had roof racks and bench seats to take as many people and as much luggage as they could.
