Andy Oakley

Taken from the Madagascar Team 1 Journal, originally by Katie

We woke up, albeit a little bleary-eyed after an evening of high activity, much boogying (to the Spice Girls amongst others) and even heated passion in a couple of cases (yes, Sally and Pokey finally got together) at the infamous Zaza, to a breakfast of honey, break and hot chocolate at the Dera. After which we were greeted by a veritable cavalry of pousse-pousse to take us to the docks where our road to paradise awaited us.

Three suspicious-looking boats bobbed around on the murky water in which did not dare look too closely as I and several other dare-devils ‘volunteered’ to test out the vehicle. Martin was looking sceptical and somewhat anxious, as our boat, without leader, drifted out to sea (leaving seven of the team stranded). Yet it was decided after an excruiciating half-hour of “will we ever get back” that they were sufficiently road-worthy to take us the two-hour journey across the idyllic, turquoise water under the perfectly blue clouless sky to the paradise beach at Anakao. Hmm, well that was the initial expectation. The journey did, much to everyone’s surprise, pass without incident (a couple of members were sea-sick) and one boat had to have water bailed out, but hey that’s nothing for this country), until, that is, after landing up on the short, the sky begins to turn a worry dark grey and the wind beings to pick up. Great fun — a tropical storm.

As Oli and I walked along the beach (which incidentally had a couple of six-toed foot prints – had Sam already been here?) to get to what we initially thought to be our resting place for the night, the rest of the group sat on the beach and watched the storm loom ominously closer. As it came to pass, the hotel actually had no rooms available for us, nor could we camp on the beach, so after a little persuasion of the villagers, Nanah found us huts for the night.

Sitting on the veranda, we became somewhat battered as the breeze grew to a gale and the showers grew to downpours. After a discussion of our plan of action, acompanied of course by THB, an extorsionately expensive lunch was munched.

Thankfully, the storm did not last long, merely an hour or so, by which time it was late afternoon. After my initial hysteria of “what the hell are we going to do?” I became somewhat calmed and pensive as to just what was the meaning of life, as I wandered along the beach dropping amazing sea-shells into my now, somewhat disfigured basket.

With the evening approaching most ofthegroup gatheed on the beach to watch the sun sink softly behind the horizon, turning the sky from blue to pink to black.

Now, almost completely soothed and somewhat romantised by the view before us, there was just time for a game of 7′s outside on the long picnic benches before a tea of fish, fish and more fish.

Nice Dave, once again, lived up to his name and reputation when upon Kay’s sickness, wondered if we were both alright.

The huts themselves were hot, stuff but a great thankyou must be delivered to the villagers themselves for letting a bunch of frightful loud westerners inhabit their homes for the evening, and in some cases – Kay, even break their ornaments.