(Montasoa)
From the Journal of Derek Rury
We have arrived here in Montasoa, a massive Peace Corps summer camp of sorts, which happens to be on a gorgeous man-made lake in a temperate pine forest so similar to those in numerous places in the U.S. (Michigan, New York, Pennsylvania), that it is sometimes difficult to believe that we are actually in Africa. This place really could be the setting for an American summer camp movie. And it's packed with anything a camp in the U.S. would need; dorm rooms, mess hall, basketball and volleyball courts, and since it is located on the banks of a lake, canoeing. Ever since I have arrived here in Madagascar, I have taken every change to could to involve myself with anything that has even the smallest prospect of adventure. Weekly hikes up mountains. Late night clubs in Tana. Even spelunking (You know...cave diving) has found its way onto my "have done" lifetime list. So when the idea of canoeing popped up, I was eager to grab a paddle and row myself to Mozambique. Three of us guy trainees decided to check out the whole canoe situation right after breakfast our first day there. We walked with a purpose, shouting barbarically, "YEAH! CANOEING!". Ok. Maybe I was the only one shouting, and even though I pictured us all doing it, perhaps I too was the only one humming the Lord of the Rings theme song as we walked to the shore. But it was hard not to draw the comparison, at least for me. The setting was perfect. A vast lake with numerous covers and peninsulas just waiting to be explored, all covered in the Madagascar highlands mist, giving the entire area that unique mystique I had seen almost every morning above the mountains in Alarobia. Mountains covered by forests crept up the banks on every side. We could go anywhere. But before we actually got underway, we hit a snag. I was the last person to get into the boat and apparently our combined weight was too much for the boat to handle and we quickly found our canoe capsized just off the shore and the three of us drenched. We all scrambled to the shore, trying to avoid one of the numerous illnesses we were told we could get if we came into contact with standing water. We then looked at each other, and simply began laughing. There wasn't anything else to do. We weren't going to give up. It was actually a great experience. It was a rite of passage of sorts. We were going through the trials and tribulations of adventuring in a foreign land, and now we had been baptized in lake Montasou.
The two other trainees decided to go off on their own (a wise decision. Once we actually got out into the lake, the water was about an inch away from getting into the boat), so I had to seek out a new victim to share my next catastrophe with. Luckily, all I had to do was walk into the dining room and mention canoeing and people were eager to join, even though people were skeptical when they looked at my drenched pants. Luckily, I had learned from my first blunder, and we got of without a hitch this time. There is something both so soothing and frightening about being in the middle of a large body of water. It's both so natural and strange. It's hard not to appreciate the view of the water from the perspective of inside a canoe. It is almost as if you are on the same level as the water. From this vantage point, the lake's surface appeared like a blue-gray, silk blanket, blowing rhythmically in the wind, so smooth and so shiny. But that beauty is interrupted whenever you get a splash of water in your face from your boat-mate in front, but it was a great experience. We actually did some pretty cool exploring on our cruise. We found (well, found probably isn't the correct word. How about, ran into?) some ruins of a fire that could not have been too long ago. We also encountered one of the most peculiar structures I have ever seen. It was a small, three or four room house, raised up about 12 feet by four concrete pillar ten yards off-shore. It was literally a house on the water. The only way to enter the house was by a small, steep, and slippery concrete set of stairs that had no fashion of boat tying in site. After some deliberation (me convincing my companion), we decided that I should go knock on the door and see who actually was living this eccentric house. After a clumsy exit and a few door knocks, we deciphered that nobody was home and that meeting the old man in the house in the sea would have to wait.
We then decided to make one more landing before we set back towards the center. There was little boat traffic that day, but there were a few curious Malagasy boaters who were perplexed by the sight of us wearing bright neon life jackets when parading around the lake. A quick, broken Malagasy explanation of, "We have to. Peace Corps policy. You know. All that red tape.", and they seemed to understand. And because this whole Montasoa "camp ground" experience feels so familiar, I decided to try out a childhood favorite on one of the banks of the lake. So, I looked for the smoothest, flattest rock I could find, but all there I could find were jagged, oddly shaped red rocks. "Meh...", I thought to myself. I could skip anything. So, I picked one up, dipped my right shoulder and gave a heave. Not only did the rock make a loud "PLUNK" sound as it hit the surface of the water and immediately sunk to the bottom, but the sharp Madagascar rock had scrapped my fingers. Maybe that was its way of telling me that this wasn't your typical American summer camp. This, as a matter of fact, was Africa.
(Lake Mantasou - photo courtesy of Jessica)
(Weird water-world house)
Row, Row, Row Your Boat - Some guy
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