Manambaro
Update: Blogger appears not to be able to publish my blog posts, for some reason. When I tried to publish my post about my vacation on Friday, it didn’t go through. Maybe I need better bandwidth than the Kaleta’s? Or has Blogger decided to limit blog posts to 1000 words and not tell anyone?
All I know is, something ain’t working and I blame Google, who owns Blogger. I already “upgraded” to yer stupid browser, that was supposed to fix the problem! Are you just picking on me because I got my computer in 2008? Geez, sorry I’m not some yipster* who buys a new MacBook Air every six months.
I give you a month to get things working, or I switch to another blogging site!
*Yipster: (portmanteau “yuppie” + “hipster”) a mid-20s to early 30s working professional, typically in the software industry, who is determined to stay “on the cutting edge” of technology, even if it means purchasing a brand-new laptop at insanely frequent intervals.
So now begins my second year in Manambaro. I’ve resolved to make some changes in my habits, basically loosening up with my attitude towards money. Before, I wanted to save up as much as I could for Kelsey’s visit. And she visited, and it was fantastic. Now it’s over, and I don’t really anything special towards which to save.
I thought about doing a giant, months-long circuit of Madagascar’s coasts after COS, but I calculated that would take more money than I’d been able to save before. Even bringing in my savings from the States would only bring it within the faintest reaches of practicality. It’s like a puzzle. Three options,
- Live comfortably at site
- Take a grand vacation post-COS
- Have money when you get back home
and you can only pick two. Really, the second option might be a trick, what with the chance that a good 40% of the journey might be spent on hot, cramped, camions-brousse.
The only thing on which I can really spend money down here is food. So that means, goodbye veganity! I’ve resolved to start drinking a glass of powdered milk per day, and eating beef on Sundays and Tuesdays, when I can be sure it’s been butchered fresh.
I cook the meat over charcoal, with the kebab skewers my parents sent me. I figure it’s one of the best ways to make sure it’s cooked thoroughly. When the meat looks ampy nandoro, sufficiently burned, I just gobble the meat off the metal while the rest of my lunch is cooking. Yeah, burned my lips a few times.
Meat good. Good for man make fire, cook meat. Man get strong when eat meat. Man learn how cook meat very good, then cook meat very good when go home to woman, make woman happy.
The first two times the meat was unseasoned, which I think of as “Stone Age style.” You could serve it up at a French restaurant, call it “boeuf à l’âge des pierres.”
The third time, yesterday, I tried marinating the beef for two hours in THB. So now we’ve progressed from the Stone Age to the Copper Age, combining meat with beer, then roasting it.
What were my ancestors doing during the Copper Age? Probably chilling on the banks of the Upper Danube, hunting and fishing and the like. And warring, probably, flexing their muscles to overrun everything to the west in the Bronze Age.
Wes intrigued me with talk of a “caveman workout,” based on the idea that even in our earliest days humans had to purposely work to get stronger. It’s perfect for Madagascar, because it mainly involves lifting rocks. No fancy gym equipment. He showed me the workout plan that he uses, and I’ve been following it as best I can. Already seeing some results; I think I’m also already to the point where I have to exert myself regularly or my brain misses the endorphins and I get cranky. The thing is definitely a two-edged sword.
But hey, I’m already in the best shape of my life. And Wes is starting to look like an Eighties action hero (compliment, dude!), so if I can get half as strong as him I will be thoroughly satisfied.
My friends and I finished Lord of the Rings and followed it with Hotel Rwanda. I wanted to show them that if anyone tells you to kill someone else because they’re a different tribe than you, put down the machete and walk away. Fortunately I don’t think any kind of ethnic cleansing could ever happen in Madagascar. This corner of Madagascar anyway; I’ve heard there’s a lot more tribal animosity up in the northwest.
Side note: Hotel Rwanda is better than Schindler’s List because it’s basically the same story, but in Africa.
We still had some battery left on my laptop after the movie ended, so I gave then the option of choosing what we’d watch next. Dollhouse is a Joss Whedon series about programmable humans and Game of Thrones is the greatest fantasy story of the 21st century. We watched ten minutes of each.
Ten minutes of Eliza Dushku racing motorcycles and dancing and generally being hot versus ten minutes with a little violence and Peter Dinklage talking.
I asked them to choose.
“Tro-nes,” they said unanimously. “We want the Tro-nes.”
And the Halfman wins again.
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