I am writing from Antananarivo. I should not, in fact, be in Antananarivo. By all rights, I should be in the air between Paris and London, getting ready to spend the night at Jon's mother's boyfriend's brother's place and then part ways until the 28th. The gods, however, decided that actually sticking to the set plan of things would be far too easy, so the night before last, while my household was having a big party to celebrate Italy's victory in the World Cup* someone decided to take advantage of the fact that one of the watchmen was dancing in a throbbing mass of Malagasy butts in front of my stepfather's bungalow, and the other watchman was standing and looking at the dancing with a dumb look on his face, and sneak into our bungalow and steal Jon's pack, containing his wallet, various papers and tickets, his credit cards in another holder, $2000 in travellers' cheques and his passport. The papers, tickets and the credit cards were all found scattered along the road leading from the house in the morning by Sabin, the day watchman, but the passport and cheques are definitely MIA.
Cut now to Tana, having spent the past twenty-four hours in and out of offices, as the flight I could have taken went by overhead. We were initially deposited in The World's Most Depressing Hotel, "Le Motel de Tana", with nasty pastel decor, chipped linoleum flooring, a highway on all sides, and a complete lack of heating. For some reson, despite it's mountain location and freezingly cold winters, most places in Tana refuse to believe that anywhere in Africa could actually require heating leading to things like poor tourists like me wearing a jacket, two cashmere sweaters and assorted t shirts to stay warm. Awful. Anyway, Jon and I looked at each other in despair, consulted our guidebook, and realised that one of the best hotels in town costs about the same as a good ol' American roadside hotel! Long live former colonies! And hooray for giving in to one's bratty side in times of distress! Now, we are ensconced in luxury-- hot water, clean sheets AND heating-- and even have a flight out of town for tomorrow and a passport for Jon, so once we figure out our connections, all should be well. Hurrah!
Oh, in other news, pictures shall have to wait until the end of August bc Jon's camera is not compatible with my computer.
* Well played, though, France. And for shame, Zidane.