Taxi

The days that followed our first weekend outing in Madagascar were spent quietly at the compound. Bro and SIL were working and a few members of our group were down with traveler’s gut so being still for a while was not unwelcome. SIL worked from home but when not working she encouraged us to make brief outings into the city. On one such afternoon SIL, my mother and I walked beyond the walls of the compound to a nearby gas station to hire a taxi to take us to the grocery store. SIL is pretty savvy when it comes to bargaining so when the first cabby didn’t take her price she moved on to the next. SIL’s second attempt, Monsieur Desiree, yielded the desired results; a round trip to Jumbo, the supermarket, for 6000 Ariary ( AH-ree-ah-ree) about 3USD.

Most of the cabs in Tana are small, near derelict Peugeots and Renaults* painted a pale cream color, occasionally adorned with vinyl decals and lovingly cared for despite their appearance. Anywhere we saw a fare-less cab we also saw a driver, spray bottle and towel in hand, polishing away on the paint and glass. Monsieur Desiree’s car was a bit older than those around it but no less clean. We settled into the spring less, bed sheet covered seats, Monsieur Desiree fired it up and off we went … about twenty yards. He had pulled a tight u-turn into the gas station where a waiting attendant looked at him expectantly and he, in turn, looked expectantly at SIL. Taxis in Tana run on near empty until they get a customer then they whip into the nearest station where part of the agreed upon fare is spent on gas. I should also note that many of the drivers do not trust the gas pumps to dispense a full liter of fuel so they carry plastic one liter water bottles for the attendants to fill and then they pour it into the gas tank. I should also note that the fill for Monsieur Desiree’s car was alongside the driver’s side dash.

With enough gas to get us where we needed to go the rickety Renault roared (and I do mean roared) to life once more, we bounced out into traffic and I took time to inspect our conveyance. Cardboard thin, bare metal interior doors – check. Hand operated windows (and I don’t mean crank, I mean grab the glass and yank) – check. Shifter on the dash that resembled the handle on a school bus that opens the door – check. Top speed 35 mph (with a tail wind) – check. Box-end wrench to remove the bolt that holds the trunk closed – check. Engine stops when going downhill – chee – wait. What!?! Gas is practically a luxury item so to conserve it the taxi drivers shut their cars down when they reach the top of a hill and coast to the bottom before restarting them. In Monsieur Desiree’s case he had bared a few wires under the dash so he could pinch them together whenever he wanted his faithful four-door to spring back to life. SIL informed us that they also drive without lights at night. Cringe.

Traffic in Tana, though a little on the wild side, is generally slow. As near as I can tell there are only two traffic laws: drive on the right side of the road and if you are already in the traffic circle you have the right of way. Also as near as I can tell these are more helpful suggestions than actual laws as you could look any direction and find someone with different ideas. There was however one firm pedestrian rule: Get the hell outta the way! Stepping out into the street generally caused a sever failure of my antiperspirant but the locals jumped in with wild abandon. Luckily Monsieur D’s driving style was slow and steady – or at least I prefer to think that was his driving style and not simply the limits of vehicle – and I was neither in fear of an accident nor of squishing someone. Double win.

Having already visited the ‘Walmart on uppers’ once before the taxi and its driver were the most interesting things of our outing (well aside from the streets of Tana but I doubt they are ever really dull). We returned without mishap and bid Monsieur Desiree adieu but not without getting his cell number should we need him in the future. Excellent foresight on SIL’s part because a day or two later we did need him again, or rather I needed him. We had made plans to travel south and return in time to get in one more day of shopping in Tana but the airlines weren’t so flexible with our plans and our tickets ended up returning us the night before mom and I were to begin the journey back to the states. SIL had brought home chocolate for us to try and I knew I wanted to take some home as gifts but I was suddenly out of time. SIL, the tour guide, phoned Monsieur Desiree who picked me up about thirty minutes later (SIL had to do all the talking because I speak neither French nor Malagassy, and Monsieur Desiree spoke no English) and whisked me off to Jumbo, by way of the gas station of course. Being ready for this and thinking I was quite the international traveler I had the fare in hand so he could buy the gas. I handed it to him with a smile (proud of myself) but his face told me I’d done it wrong. He probably tried to tell me too but I was at a loss to sort out what he was saying. He shrugged, dug around in a hole in the dash for some money, got his liter bottle filled, and we were off.

The whole time I was in the store I was trying to figure out what I’d gotten wrong. I counted the Ariary in my head…divided…multiplied…fretted. 600 Ariary. Right? Nope, not right, and it hit me while I was standing in line trying to figure out how much fifteen candy bars were going to cost. I was supposed to give him 6000 Ariary, not 600. I had given the poor man thirty cents not three dollars and expected him to be able to buy gas with it. No wonder he’d looked at me like I was nuts. Being New Year’s Eve the line at the store was long and my chocolate purchase took what seemed like forever (ok, I also bought a nice raffia tote from a vender inside the store – details, details) and I fretted that the taxi would still be waiting. Happily he was and when we returned to the compound I tipped him well enough to make him smile (fifty cents).

Now you know the story of my one and only all-by-myself adventure.

*With the help of someone on FriendFeed I discovered that our taxi was a Renault 4, manufactured sometime in the 60’s.