the Astrek climbing wall in Thamel

At the wall I quickly make friends with Julien and Michka, two Frenchmen that have been spending a good amount of time in Nepal to climb several 6000m peaks.  What starts out as a friendly catch among climbers turns into daily climbing sessions and a terrific friendship complete with many shared meals, a Nepali punk concert and a hilarious bicycle excursion to one of Kathmandu’s sport crags.  On top of all that, the guys and their mountaineering stories give me the last little nudge I need to actually go off to climb a peak myself.  Great fun is had for the four or five days that we overlap in town, and the day after the guys fly out to continue their journey in warmer climates I set off for Lukla to go tackle my first 6000m mountain: Island Peak, a 6,189m summit that requires some determination and gear but is not too technically challenging.

the boys

climbing in the outskirts of Kathmandu

packing for Island Peak

I leave Kathmandu on the morning of November 9 together with Mingma, the climbing sherpa who also guided Michka and Julien earlier in the season.  After a short but dramatic mountain flight into Lukla at 2,800m we spend five days hiking farther and farther into the mountains gaining an average of almost five hundred meters a day until we arrive at 5,100m in Gorapshep, the last cluster of teahouses before Everest Base Camp.  The next morning we are up at 4am for an acclimatization hike up to the 5,650m summit of Kala Patthar, a side peak of Pumori which offers great sunrise views of Mount Everest, Mount Nuptse and Ama Dablam.

waiting for our plane to Lukla

halfway up the 600m pass to Namche

Mingma Sherpa in Namche

en route

Mt Nuptse!

on the way back down from Kala Patthar

Since we’ve been moving fast and without rest days I definitely feel the altitude on Kala Patthar but fortunately we’re headed back down to 4,400m for another night before moving to Island Peak Base Camp.  And then, only six days after leaving Lukla I find myself curled up in my down sleeping bag in a tent in the biting cold of Island Peak Base Camp, being utterly grateful to Mingma for keeping me warm with a seemingly never-ending supply of hot soup and hot tea.  Sleep that night is short since our summit day begins at 1:30am.  For almost four hours we are climbing in the quiet of the night, relying only on the light of the full moon.  Then dawn comes, and right as I am considering giving up and turning back (the night climbing was a completely non-technical scramble on rock, but steep and strenuous and utterly draining) the sun finally comes up and we have reached the glacier – halfway mark, and the beginning of the more technical part of the climb.  Mingma feels my hesitation and pushes me to rope up, then swiftly leads me across the glacier trail towards the headwall which is the most serious section of the route.  By the time we reach the wall I am so exhausted from the lack of oxygen and long climb that every meter is a battle, but I also have the summit in sight now and just know that I won’t turn around – especially since this is where the fun really starts: the terrain is getting steeper, my ice tool finally gets some use and the views are getting better and better.  Mingma and I are behind another climbing team that is setting up fixed ropes to navigate the wall more easily, but after a few minutes of idling down on the glacier Mingma decides that the steepness of the wall is matched by my climbing abilities, and we set out without fixed lines.  The first half of the wall is no problem with nothing but a short rope, but for the last part the fix ropes are already set and I gratefully take advantage of them – I am so tired now that even ascending the fixed line is starting to be difficult.

Island Peak & base camp

onto the glacier

view from halfway up the headwall

The (exposed but non-technical) summit ridge is the hardest 100m I’ve ever walked.  Every step is a battle, and even though the summit is just a stone’s throw away I am beginning to doubt if I will be able to reach it after all.  In the end I summit briefly after 10am, more than 8 hours after beginning the climb.  Now all that’s left for the day is the long way back down to base camp, and then the hike out to Chukkhung so we can sleep at a more reasonable altitude.

the ridge

summit whiteout

looking back on the way down

Two strenuous days later and 48hrs ahead of schedule I am back where Mingma and I started the trek ten days earlier: in Lukla. Because of bad weather there haven’t been any flights to or from Lukla for six days, and we end up idling for a couple of days waiting to get out to Kathmandu.  We finally leave just in time for me to make my flight to Buenos Aires where I’m planning to meet up with Katrin for the last leg of our respective travels. Hard to believe that it’s only a matter of weeks now until real life will start again!

JoSiTo! the view from my tent

beautiful Oekuezini, one of the sectors in Geyikbayiri

I arrive at the camp about an hour later, and even though it is completely deserted (the season is yet to begin – the summer months in Turkey are too hot to climb) I am immediately in love with the place.  Cliffs all around, a big mountain towering over the area, lovely little huts dotted along the camping areas and a bar/restaurant that has as much character as the team running the camp.

part of the JoSiTo gang behind the bar

a day in the life... Ela, Eddie and my tent

I soon meet the crew and all a sudden find myself in the middle of the best summer adventure I could possibly have asked for.  It feels as if the world has stopped turning, and for two amazing months (which initially were supposed to be four and a half weeks, then turned into six weeks, finally into nine – and even so it is still hard to leave at the end) life consists of nothing but climbing, eating, sleeping, and a little bit of working in the kitchen in between.   Great people, great climbing, for the most part great weather and great guests.

bar fun with JoSiTo guests

happy on a multi-pitch route

One of the highlights of my time at JoSiTo is a day of deep water soloing close to Olympos, where my climbing partner Tim and I team up with two guests to spend a day at the sea, soaking up the sun and loving life amid crystal clear water and glistening cliffs.  What a life.

deep water soloing

ZimTim

Climbing continuously for two months is pushing my limits, both physically and emotionally.  At times I am frustrated and struggling with the question of why I climb at all, close to throwing out my rock shoes.  Then there are moments of crystal clear focus where every move feels right, every contact with the rock is joy, and every route I start feels like a meditation.  All in all I spend an amazing nine weeks expanding my comfort zone and living an fantastically simple and intense live.  I come away from my time in Turkey with great new friends, the knowledge that climbing will be an essential part of my life for a long long time to come, and the firm intent to return to JoSiTo as soon as possible – Christmas 2012, if not before.  Thanks for an incredible time, team JoSiTo!

JoSiTo's master of disaster - Tobi on his project Aaron

one of the final days, sad to be leaving

my backpacker alter ego

After dinner on Sunday Mom drops me off at the station so I can catch the night-train to Munich, where I have my visa interview at the US consulate first thing in the morning.  I get my H1B visa approved, briefly stop by Globetrotter to buy a new climbing harness and play on their rock wall, then hop on the next train to Immenstadt.  Or at least I think I’m on the train to Immenstadt until about two hours later when I suddenly realize that I’ve been traveling due east and steadily away from my dad’s place instead of towards him.  I get off at a tiny station somewhere in the middle of nowhere.  There isn’t even have a public telephone (I canceled my cell phone when I left the States), but thankfully the station ward is nice enough to let me use his landline.  A couple of ever more frantic phone tag iterations and two hours later I’m back in the western Alps.

at least it's a pretty train ride

 Dad and I do some more mountain gear shopping, then call it an early night.  The alarm is set for 2:45am so we can hit the road by 3:30am.  By 9am we’re in Grindelwald, Switzerland, ready to catch the cable car past/through the Eiger North Face up to Jungfraujoch, “the top of Europe” at 3,454 meters above sea level.  We trek across the glacier towards the hut we’ll be staying at for the night, have a quick lunch, then make an afternoon attempt at the Moench summit.  Due to bad weather moving in and zero acclimatization on our part, though, we turn around after only twenty minutes.

ordinary day with Dad

Dad en route

back at the hut, killing time 'til dinner

hut

In the morning the weather has cleared, but dad is still feeling the altitude so I set off on my own.  With no intention to go all the way to the summit because of avalanche danger I set myself a turnaround time two hours hence, then start scrambling up the Suedsporn.  An hour and a half later, though, I am still about a hundred feet below the ridge trail. I’ve been scrambling up lose but steep rock, losing the trail repeatedly.  When I finally come up on a 20ft step that looks to me like 5.5/5.6 climbing, with no protection, I decide to call it a day half an hour early and turn around.  The climbing looks doable, but I don’t trust myself to not fumble – and a slip in this section could easily send me back down the 400 vertical feet that separate me from the glacier.  So much for the easy hike with occasional second class scrambling that the route descriptions promised.  Or maybe I’ve once again lost the trail.  Either way, despite a bruised ego I’m on my way back down: live to climb another day.

sunrise from the hut

Jungfrau Panorama

the step that turned me around

steep enough for a klutz like myself

Dad is already waiting for me at the trail junction on the glacier.  We hike back to the train station, zip down through the Eiger north face and are on our way to France.  Next stop: Mont Blanc!

Dad waiting for me down below, past two small crevasses

the summit - I'll be back soon

We spend the night in Argentiere, Chamonix’s sleepy cousin, where Dad treats me to a delicious dinner – escargot, St. Emilion, chocolate fondue, cognac… life is good.

French hospitality

dessert!

The next morning we catch one of the first rides up la Flegere across the valley from Mont Blanc, for a beautiful two hour hike across to the next peak.  After lunch we head back down to the valley and finally up Aiguille du Midi all while watching (in my case, with considerably envy) countless rope teams in various walls and on the glacier.

Hoehenweg

who can spot the most climbers...

not me, for now anyway

also not me, this time

two of many, many rope teams

By now it is Thursday afternoon and time for us to commence the journey back: tomorrow my sister and her boyfriend will be stopping over on their drive down to Italy and pick me up for Mom’s surprise 60th birthday party in Tyrol on Saturday evening.  The surprise is a full success; good times are had.  Before we know it it’s Sunday afternoon and once again time to get in the car, this time to head back up to dad’s place.

Mom's surprise birthday

this doesn't suck

definitely doesn't suck

As it turns out an old friend and his girlfriend are vacationing about twenty minutes away from my dad’s.  We rendezvous on Monday for a leisurely day hike up a 2,200m peak that turns out to be a bit more involved (or rather, exposed) than some of us bargained for, but it’s an intensely fun day nonetheless.

"fatal danger", ha

And then, to top things off, Dad and I hop in the car and are off again – this time towards Austria, for a visit to the Dachstein massif. This time we go our separate ways during the day: while Dad heads up to the glacier to look around I link up with a mountain guide (not having a climbing partner is starting to get old) to tackle one of Austria’s classic routes, the Steinerweg.  After a day of questionable weather Peter and I leave at 4:15am, spend two partially excruciating hours scrambling up to the base of the wall in the dark, then start our 2,700ft climb right at the first light of day.  In the end I am more than grateful that I am climbing with a guide: route finding would have been a big issue had I climbed with someone not as familiar with the wall, despite the big red arrows that are painted on the rock in places where in the past too many climbers have had to be plucked from the wall by helicopter after getting trapped off route.  Following Peter, who sets a sharp pace (and solos the entire climb except for the crux, shortening a 23 pitch route to about 16 and placing no more than two cams in the process, solely for my benefit), I manage to get up the wall in about three hours and fifty minutes.  Just in time for a victory beer before the clouds roll in, and about 20 minutes ahead of the other rope team that set out at the trailhead at the same time as we did.  When Peter reveals that this particular rope team consists of another guide and a local cross-country ski world cup champion I start to feel a bit better about the amount of huffing and puffing that it has taken me to get up those 2,700ft at Peter’s pace.

Steinerweg

nothing tastes sweeter than a beer carried up 850 vertical meters of climbing

After our beers and a quick lunch back down on the Dachstein glacier we’re in the gondola back down to the valley, and then Dad and I start the long drive back.  It’s Thursday now, and I am to report to Turkey for work (really: to climb) in five days but not before a stopover in Munich to say hi to grandma plus a quick excursion to Norway to check out the fjords and Hardangervidda, and for some much needed solitude and quiet after my highly enjoyable but also exhausting alpine odyssey.

the beautiful, bleak emptiness of Hardangervidda

back to Bergen, off to Turkey!

my new favorite animal

one of the many obligatory elephant shots

hyena!

After a night in a Jo’burg hostel, lots and lots of driving, the frustration of accommodation in the park being 100% booked and the anticipation of fantastically basic accommodation in Waterval Boven for the following days I decide to splurge (gotta do it once every trip, after all) and spend the night at a four star resort right by one of Kruger’s entrance gates.  In addition to a luxurious home for the night I also get the benefit of being so close to the park that I can head out for a sunrise drive right as the gates open, then return for breakfast and to collect my bags before hitting the road for good and taking the long way “home” to Waterval Boven northwards through the park and through the picturesque highlands around Sabie.

the resort

sun! on day #2 in Kruger

and on the way back to Waterval Boven

I arrive back in Waterval Boven after nightfall, pick up the keys to my refuge for the next two nights (Roc’n'Rope’s “overflow” housing since the military has filled up the regular climbers’ lodge with a unit of their people that are in for a couple of weeks of climbing / mountain combat training), and introduce myself to my roommates: a pair of Israeli and a foursome of Austrian climbers, all of whom are staying for multiple weeks.  Five guys, one girl, none of them big talkers – at least not when I’m around – but all strong climbers.  Martina, the girl, has just sent Jack of all Trades on her second attempt… a 5.13b/c, and one of the area’s classic routes.

Roc'n'Rope

front porch, complete with toilet

The guys invite me to tag along for the following day, but I know that I climb nowhere near their level and in addition it’s been almost three months since I’ve touched rock.  The crags that they are targeting have no easy routes for me, so in the end I link up with Jan, one of the guys from Roc’n'Rope, and climb with him for two days. It feels great to be climbing again, and while my muscles have definitely atrophied in Madagascar my mind seems to have become stronger – the exposure on our trad climbs on the first afternoon feels fantastic, and on the second day I lead three sport routes without much cursing or complaining, including a 5.8 onsight.

Jan at the top of an easy trad route

sweet sandstone

the resident pig on our approach on day #2

Even though we end up doing no more than 9 easy pitches in two days I am incredibly sore by the time I head to the airport to fly back to Germany for one last stopover in Europe before Turkey, Nepal and LatAm.  I can’t wait to climb for six weeks straight come September!

last trad route, done... awesome climbing!

post-ultra: feet on desk at work = totally OK

aaah - on my balcony, already feeling better

As soon as I’m able to walk again without too much trouble – about four days after le grand raid – I catch up on some of the city sightseeing that I’ve been postponing since I arrived in Antananarivo.  That, in addition to my balcony, packing and planning the next few legs of my trip, keeps me busy up until I head to the airport on the afternoon of August 14.

one of Antananarivo's many faces

the local way to do laundry. and to spread the pneumonic plague.

Cafe de la Gare: awesome vazaha hangout

market a la Tana

It’s been a great seven weeks, but now it’s time to move on.  South Africa, here I come!

last evening, last THB on my balcony

goodbye Tana!

Thursday morning, 3:30am

The day is a blur of bumpy bus rides and roadside pit stops, but 18 hours later we arrive at our destination: Ranohira, a sleepy little town of 6,000 that is the gateway to Isalo National Park and also the departure point for le grand raid de l’Isalo, the 100km ultra that Matt and I spontaneously signed up for about two weeks ago. The next day consists of doing precisely nothing, plus a fitful attempt to catch an eyeful of sleep right after sundown at 7pm. Around 10pm I finally fall asleep only to be back up right after midnight; Matt manages to sleep an hour or so more than me. And then it’s 1:45am – the band is playing, we’re all geared up and barely have time for a hasty breakfast bite before lining up at the start. There’s a starting line picture, a short countdown and we’re on our way.

darkness, the start of le grand raid

The first 30+km are flat and easy terrain, but Matt and I have settled on a run/walk alternating rhythm to make sure we don’t blow our energy in the first third of the race. As we slow down to a walk after the first five minutes we soon find ourselves at the very back of the pack, trailed in some distance only by a race crew vehicle. Within the first hour, though, we catch up with the rest of the field and start passing other runners at fairly regular intervals. The 12km rest stop appears somewhat more quickly than expected, and then the 27km check-in. We’re steadily alternating five minutes of running and five minutes of walking, moving swiftly by the light of just one headlamp as we’re shooting the breeze. At one point we’re stumped to see the trail disappear into a creek that’s too wide to jump across; the thought of running in wet shoes for the next 70+km seems like a recipe for disaster, but after a minute of hemming and hawing we come to terms with the idea and wade across. And then, before we know it, we’ve made it through the night and arrive at the 33km breakfast bivouac right as the sun is coming up. I’m feeling fresh, fast, and exhilarated. This is easy!

awesome trail, shortly after sunrise

It has taken us a bit under 4.5hrs to cover the first 33km, at a completely comfortable pace. Matt and I are beginning to scheme; if we put another 30km behind us before noon, we’ll essentially be two-thirds done. Who knows, we might even finish this race before nightfall! Or so we think. Little did we know…

Matt taking it all in

onwards (and upwards, soon enough)

Roughly half an hour after breakfast the terrain begins to change. During the night we were running steadily north, staying in grassy flats parallel to the mountainous national park. After breakfast, however, we turn west and straight into the massif d’Isalo that the race course crosses. Our run/walk rhythm falls victim to steeper terrain, and soon enough I’m struggling to just keep up a normal walk as we’re battling the initial climbs. In addition to the more difficult trail the sun is now glaring down on us, it is getting hotter and hotter, and I am beginning to wonder if I packed enough food to get me through the day and to the 70km bivouac. Within two hours from the breakfast bivy I am drenched in sweat, winded and running low on water. Matt is a few minutes ahead of me by now, and the sole redeeming factor is that we’ve reached the plateau and the terrain is easing up a little. At the top of one of the climbs I pass a group of three Malagasy runners who seem similarly exhausted, and one of the runners is out of water. She asks me for some of mine, and with little hesitation I pour half of my remaining 300ml into her empty bottle.

pretty to look at from the distance, not so pretty to traverse

From that point on the day is one long struggle: even if I had sufficient energy to attempt another run the trail is often difficult even to hike; the sun is punishing, my water and food reserves worryingly low, and our pace has slowed to a crawl. The rest stations at 49km and 62km are both tight on supplies and ration the water they give out. Matt – who has spent an hour or two hiking at a faster pace and then waiting for me every couple kilometers – in the end decides to match his pace to my shuffle after we separately battle through a particularly difficult section that leaves him nauseous and me worried about heat exhaustion. During that same stretch I once again pass the Malagasy woman that asked me for water earlier, and again she has run dry. This time around, though, I have been pacing myself to one small sip every five minutes and am still almost out of water, and refuse her request.

rendezvous point by a creek

I am relieved as I finally come up on the 62km rest stop. It is 3pm by now, the worst mid-day heat should be over, and I am resolved to take a long, proper break to try to overcome the fatigue that’s been plaguing me. Matt is waiting for me, sitting on a log in the river and cooling his feet. I join him, but don’t even bother with the log – I just sit down in the middle of the stream, fully clothed, shoes and all. What a relief.

aaaah

After half an hour we’re on our way to the 70km bivouac. The going gets a bit easier, the sun isn’t as hot anymore, and we’re keeping company again. And yet – while Matt seems to have rallied, I am toast. I am worried about dehydration, about small food rations at the dinner bivy, and about making it home. On our final approach to the bivouac, right after sunset, Matt and I are expecting the worst: little or even no water and limited food rations. What a surprise when we roll into camp and are greeted by a Frenchman who shoves a 1.5l bottle of Eau Vive (each!) into our hands, then makes us sit down on a tarp and conjures up big bowlfuls of soup, pasta, chicken, coke and coffee. I feel like a kid in Disneyland, and am so grateful I almost want to cry. Matt and I eat and rest for almost an hour under the expert care of the Frenchman.

French hospitality

As we get back on the trail shortly before 8pm – it is pitch black by now and we have been on the move for 18 hours – I feel completely rested. Hiking in the cool after nightfall is a blessing. Matt and I are moving at a fresh pace, shooting the breeze again and making plans for a leisurely victory beer break somewhere after the next rest stop. Unfortunately, though, our second wind only lasts for a little more than an hour. As we’re coming up on the 82km rest stop, my legs feel heavy and I am once again struggling to get up even modest inclines. Not only that, but the 82km checkpoint is out of water. Plan B kicks in: we break open the two cans of beer that Matt has been carrying for the last 21 hours. The first taste is heaven, but in the end I struggle to finish my beer and, after I do, have a tough time trying to walk straight up the next hill right after the rest stop. Thankfully I regain my sense of balance in time for some of the more exposed stretches of the trail: at one point Matt notices that we seem to be hiking along the edge of a cliff, picks up a small rock and tosses it over the edge. We listen, and hear…. nothing. For a loooong time. Wherever we are, there’s a serious canyon right next to us; probably a very pretty hike, too bad that it’s pitch black and the beams of our headlamps only penetrate a few feet of darkness.

penultimate check-in point

As we struggle through the last 18 kilometers (or 5 hours, at the pace that we’ve slowed to) of the race we encounter a few more settings where I wish it were light. At one time we’re hiking along an easy flat brush trail when all a sudden massive walls rise out of nothing in the dark to our right; they resemble the oversized cooling towers of a nuclear plant, and continue as far as the eye can see in either direction. It takes me a few seconds to realize that we’ve been hiking along the perfectly level bottom of a wide canyon. Half an hour later we find ourselves slogging through ankle-deep sand as we’re crisscrossing a number of wide and shallow dry river beds, back and forth and back again.

Isalo!

The final hours seem to stretch on forever as we’re hiking through surreal landscapes in the dark. Some of the easiest terrain – 2km or so along an essentially flat dirt road leading back into town – is one of the toughest parts of the race; we steadily schlep towards Ranohira and finally, finally reach the finish line briefly after 3 in the morning. Some tired high fives, finisher medals, one last race photo (buried somewhere on Matt’s camera), an exhausted meal, a quick rinse under no-pressure hot water dribble… and at 4am we’re dead asleep. Ultra marathon, done!

oh yes

Saturday morning at the Cookie Shop

#2: Taxi cabs, Tana-style: traveling by cab here is an experience.  After negotiating the fare and jumping in (assuming you can get the door open, which is a challenge in itself – I’m 1 for 7 so far), many cabs will make a beeline to the closest gas station, and get you to prepay the fare so they can purchase enough gas to make it to your destination.  From all that I’ve seen, this is common practice for any trip of 2 miles or more – which may have to do with the fact that some cabbies don’t use their gas tank but instead have an old beverage bottle with fuel next to the driver’s seat that’s creatively hooked up to the engine.  Another fuel-economizing strategy: as soon as there’s a downhill stretch the engine gets cut to be started again only once the cab has slowed down to a crawl.

#3: Bastille Day: On the eve of July 14, the French embassy marks their independence celebrations with elaborate fireworks.  Watching from the third floor window of my house on a hill I’m enjoying the spectacle from the distance.  The next morning, though, I hear that many locals (especially those without a view of the fireworks) had a different reaction to the noise coming from an area where many government functions are housed: they called the police, assuming the – unannounced – firework shots to be a continuation of the violent 2009 coup.  Not a great way for the French ambassador to make friends…

roofs of Tana

camera meets slow Saturday afternoon

#4: Running: By now I’m an official entrant for the 2011 Isalo Raid, a 100km ultra marathon in the south of Madagascar.  As such, I have no excuse to not show up to the regular Sunday morning running group; and I even manage to get out of bed on Saturday morning to partake in an additional two hour run in preparation for Isalo.  I’m excited – the ultra marathon is this weekend (start time: 2am on Saturday morning), and we’ll be getting on a bus to Isalo before dawn on Thursday morning to make sure we’re down there in time for the pre-race briefing.  T minus four!

typical weekend afternoon

Sunday runners, encore

that + book + beer + music = good end to the day

daily workout, daily stretching..

As the weekend rolls around I find myself eating burritos, drinking beer and playing cards, losing money as I’m learning the rules for all sorts of new flavors of poker.  During the game the conversation turns to the ultra marathon in late July that an expat contingent plans to participate in.  I listen up, and sure enough two days after the poker game I am talking logistics with the guy who is organizing a group of local runners for the race.  Looks like I’ll be tackling my first 100km race here in Madagascar, less than three weeks hence.

signage @ our host's

Saturday I spend strolling through Analamahitsy, neighboring suburbs and the nearby countryside – climbing shoes in hand, in search of climbable rock. After multiple hours of walking, an encounter with stone masons in an active quarry which I subsequently dismiss as a potential climbing area (and countless locals giving me strange looks) I finally happen across an accessible wall close to home.

the hills outside of Tana

colorful country

there! a wall

Unfortunately the rock is dirty and brittle, and the accessible part of the wall too steep and close to the road to lend itself to any safe fun.  I finally give up: my rock shoes won’t be getting any use in Tana. All that’s left to me is to try and keep my body in shape and count the days until South Africa, where I’ve already secured a climbing partner for three days in Waterval Boven.

verdict: brittle + dirty = unsafe & no fun

post-scouting reward - brunch a la Tana

my 5.10s, idle - for another four weeks anyway

my tongue-twister of a neighborhood: Analamahitsy

my street

vendor across the street

sunset over the suburbs of Tana

My first full weekend in town is packed with all sorts of activities. On Friday night I end up going for street food and later on live music with coworkers and new friends. Saturday morning I barely have time to work out and wander around the neighborhood for a bit before it is time to head into town for a brunch with the HNI team & family members; afterwards I find myself strolling through Antananarivo’s Quartier Chinois and its bustling markets.

Friday night - live music at Le Pub

home gym, Madagascar style

On Sunday I am up at 7:30 and shivering in the cold, foggy morning as I join HNI’s sportier folks for an early run in the countryside around Tana.  What I assumed would be a leisurely jog with a handful of people turns out to be the weekly outing of the local expat running club with 40+ runners covering 12k over decently steep hills, through ditches, along rice paddies and through the suburbs of Antananarivo.  It’s a painful reminder to me that I haven’t done any cardio what-so-ever in almost a month, but a fun way to start the day – especially because at the end of the run there’s coffee and crepes waiting.

Sunday morning run, the "before" picture..

After the run and a quick shower I’m back in Ivandry (where HNI is located), lunching with the HNI family and pre-celebrating the 4th of July with some Sunday afternoon fireworks.  I say goodbye right as the sun is setting and fall into bed before too long, ready for my second week in Tana.

David launching fireworks - take cover

enjoying the last afternoon sun on my balcony

Tulamben

yoga by the ocean: happy place

procession ornaments lining the streets

Balinese rice terraces

By late afternoon I’m in the car en route to Denpasar, the beginning of a 24hr journey to Germany where I have one day and two nights with family before moving on to Madagascar.

breakfast a la Deutschland: Weisswurst

The trip to Madagascar is surprisingly tolerable.  While I spend more than 15hrs in the air and have to change planes twice, I am lucky enough to be on an almost empty red-eye from Egypt to South Africa which allows me to get a solid 6hrs of sleep stretched out across a row of four empty seats – now that’s flying coach the way I like it.

Upon arrival in Antananarivo I am greeted by one of the drivers of Human Network International (HNI), the NGO that I will be working for until the middle of August. From there on I am fully taken care of by HNI: accommodations have been booked for the first couple of nights, a welcome dinner for my first night in town is arranged, living arrangements for the full duration of my stay are facilitated by my coworkers. All that’s left to do for me is to show up at the office, get up to speed on the projects I am helping with, and enjoy the ride. That, and to brush up my French and learn some basic Malagasy.  This should be fun!

the hotel

my new neighborhood as I am moving in: blackout