A day in Diego, Madagascar

6am.

Diego.

The bright blue sky stretches in a dome above the city; majestic strips of virgin white clouds create an awe-inspiring contrast. Cracked streets crisscross in a semi-block like pattern. One dusty, ex-colonial street after another. Two story houses line every cracked alley; pillars and beautifully shuttered windows allude to moments past. White washed walls stand like proud squares between the brightly painted door frames.

Roosters crow. School children chewing on morning treats pick their way through the streets towards school. Dark skin color beautifully contrasted by red, checkered tunics; large brown eyes turn up shyly towards you and wide smiles open in a chorus of morning greetings.

The sound of catholic mass drifts your way. Voices swell as the service reaches a pinnacle.

Main street Diego. Rue Colbert. Ebony women seductively sway their sarong-wrapped hips, offering fresh fruit from baskets balanced precariously on their tightly braided scalps. The sun flashes on tourist sunglasses; ATV rental pamphlets, enticing posters, and colorful trinkets crowd shops windows. Men sit on front steps chewing on Cat leafs; their cheeks bulging as they alternatively crunch and spit out the green starch to get a soft high. The eye passersby from afar.

Newly built atrocities sandwich themselves amongst traditional house fronts; foreign money has flooded the market and minimal attempts are made to retain colonial charm.

9am.

Bright yellow taxis speed down the streets honking loudly advertising their business. Heat exudes from the dusty, pock-marked pavement. The obnoxious sound of rented 4-wheelers comes racing towards, past, and then away from the ear. Straddled by an overweight and balding French man, both he and his ridiculous vehicle are just one of many in the city.

Stray dogs sleep lazily on the sidewalk. Scratching flea bites, they occasionally cry out in chorus before rolling over and stretching in the ever-present sun. The smell of fried bananas floats deliciously in the air. Vats of oil balance on portable coal stoves; the resulting fried treats presented on wobbily, crude wooden tables. Enticing homemade treats invite passersby to stop and eat. All for the whopping price of 100 Ariary per banana; the equivalent of 5 American cents.

Noon.

Turning onto one of the many side streets, you might be lucky enough to see a small herd of Zebu grazing in dilapidated lots. Picking around long-forgotten remnants of beautiful buildings, the sleek black fur of their rounded humps reflects the sun.

The captivating beauty of midday Islamic prayers can be heard floating on the way to the market. Interrupted only by the rattle of shutters, the city falls silent. It is siesta.

The peaceful quiet grows ever deeper as people leave the suffocating midday for the recluse of shaded terraces and secluded homes. Few restaurants remain open; those that do, happily take the extra business. Offerings of fresh croissants, omelet sandwiches, homemade yogurt, baguettes, and cold bottle water are advertised on menus.

3pm.

This city wakes from its slumber. The market is bustling; music blares from speakers, laying a protective blanket over merchandise. Psychedelic colors clash in the fabrics of dresses and sarongs; homemade chili sauce bakes in the sun. Oily vanilla beans are sold in bunches by women who politely call you mademoiselle and send you off with a warning to watch your belongings better because of pick-pockets. The city’s only cinema considers opening its locked gates. The offerings include movies dating back at least five years; Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets being one of the advertised showings.

Bars start to fill with people ready for a chilled THB; Three Horses Beer. Almost exclusively the only beer for sale here, it controls the market as well as your taste buds. Smoking on Good Look cigarettes, laughter fills the air.

5pm.

The last of the city’s office-based workers rush into the streets. Cool air descends on the city, welcomed by sweat-spotted brows. Local fishing boats land at the port; crowds vie for a chance to buy some of the fresh catch. Turning away from the commotion, families climb up a set of wide steps to an all encompassing look-out point. The orange and red sun casts a mesmerizing scene. Hanging over railings, pure white teeth of happy grins stand out in the growing dusk.

6pm.

It’s dark in the city. Anywhere in the city you will find brochettes being served to eager diners, hear the wails of love-song karaoke at Le Boss, or get inspired by locals diligently learning French at Alliance Francais.

Twelve hours since hundreds of students walked into run-down blocks of concrete to learn mathematics and the names of European countries, the city has transformed itself from a sun-drenched and bustling enterprise to an alluring haven for intoxicated decisions. Accompanied by an impressive night sky, the festivities go well into the AM hours. Four AM will find you perusing the late-night street food options; grilled zebu steak pieces, vegetable salads, baguettes, lo mein-style noodles, and (of course) a wide-range of fried foods. For the low price of 7900 Ariary (4 USD), you can feed a full meal to three people, including beer.

Stumbling home through the dark, you fall into bed just as the first rays of sun are peaking over the horizon.

A rooster crows. Another day in Diego, Madagascar.