antananarivo: a foggy fever dream in the highlands
i'm sitting on a cracked concrete step in antananarivo, humidity 100%, temperature 15.01°c but it feels like 15.18°c and my camera lens keeps fogging up like a bathroom mirror after a hot shower. it's the kind of damp that seeps into your bones and makes the colors on the street look extra saturated, like the city is bleeding ink. i just checked and it's 15.01°c with a feels-like of 15.18°c and the humidity's at 100% - exactly the kind of weather that makes you feel like you're breathing soup. hope you enjoy that kinda thing.
if you want to see where i'm currently losing my mind, here's a little map:
i walked past a building with the number *1063858 scrawled in what looked like red spray paint. it might have been a section number, a phone number, or just someone's weird idea of art. the wall was crumbling, but the digits were crisp, as if they'd been applied yesterday. i instinctively took a photo, but the fog on my lens turned the shot into a blurry mess.
the best food in town, according to a waiter i met at the hotel, is at the Analakely market. someone told me that the best mangoes are sold at stall number 1450838187 - that's what he said, i swear - but i think he was pulling my leg. if you're hungry, you can check out the top-rated spots on TripAdvisor for this city; they have a list that'll keep you busy for days. also, the locals have a forum on Madagascar Travel Board where they argue about the best taxi prices. it's a mess.
i also saw this odd sign written in malagasy:
next thing i know, i'm staring at a black and white tiled wall with a name etched into it: 'RADO' or something. i tried to capture it but the light was all wrong. this city is full of these weird little details that make you feel like you're in a found-footage film.
later, a white van rattled past, belching smoke and carrying what i think was a live zebu. the driver shouted something about a price that started with 1450838187, but my malagasy isn’t good enough to tell if he was serious or joking. maybe that's the cost of a zebu in ariary? i have no idea.
over a plate of ravimbomanga (that's a spinach stew), i overheard a conversation: two guys were arguing about the number 1063858, saying it's the code to a hidden bar behind the railway station. one of them insisted you have to whisper it to the bouncer, the other laughed and said that’s just an old legend. i'm half tempted to try it tonight, but my feet are killing me from walking on these cobbles.
if you get bored of the mist and the highland chill, the hot springs of antsirabe are a short drive away - like an hour, maybe two if you take the scenic route. they say the water smells like rotten eggs but your muscles will thank you. and if you're feeling really adventurous, the stone forests of tsingy de bemaharaha are a short plane ride away, but i wouldn't recommend it during the rainy season unless you enjoy getting stuck in the mud.
for more insider tips, check out this Yelp list of budget eats. i also found a cool blog post about underground art scenes. and if you're a photographer like me, you'll want to read about the best light at sunrise from the rova (the royal palace) - it’s magical, provided the fog hasn’t settled yet.
as i sit here typing these notes, the humidity* hasn't dropped, the temperature still reads 15.01°c, and i'm starting to wonder if the weather app is broken. but then a child runs past laughing, his shirt soaked through, and i realize it's just the city being itself: wet, weird, and wonderfully unpolished. maybe tomorrow i'll hunt for that secret bar, maybe i'll just stay in and drink the terrible local coffee. either way, i'm not leaving anytime soon.
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