Life in Madagascar was like opening a surprise gift every morning — you never knew what you’d get.
On my very first evening, my new colleagues invited me to a French-style restaurant. Oh, you should’ve seen the tables! Each one had a tiny rose, gently tucked into a glass test tube, standing tall on a little iron base.
The whole place smelled faintly of flowers — warm and comforting, like someone had bottled a sunny afternoon and sprinkled it in the air.
An Apartment with Guards and Green Dreams
I rented an apartment owned by a friendly man from Taiwan. It was on the fourth floor of a big building, about a fifteen-minute drive from work.
On weekends, I would sit there, sipping a slow glass of wine, letting the city’s gentle peace wrap around me like a soft blanket.
Behind our office, there was a whole line of purple flame trees. Every November, they exploded into a riot of purple flowers, like someone had painted the sky with a giant brush dipped in dreams.
I loved to step outside during afternoon breaks and watch the petals flutter like tiny flags in the breeze.
The Sleepy Flight and the Airport of Cows
Most of the time, my job kept me in the capital city.
But sometimes, it sent me off on little field trips — like to a tiny port town, just a 1.5-hour flight (or an 8-hour car ride if you felt brave).
One morning, I was packed and ready. A local coworker kindly dropped me at the airport… but he didn’t come inside.
Now, in Madagascar airports, everyone speaks French. Guess who knew exactly zero French words? (Hint: me.)
I glued my eyes to the departure board like it was the last cookie on Earth.
My flight was delayed 30 minutes. But eventually, we took off, and the second we were airborne, I curled up and snoozed like a kitten on a sunny porch
A Wrong Landing and a Right Laugh
When I finally woke up, blinking like a sleepy owl, we had landed at a tiny airport.
Outside the window, in the golden dust, I spotted cows grazing — right near the runway!
Something didn’t feel quite right.
And guess what? It wasn’t.
We had landed **at the wrong airport!**
I collected my luggage, walked into the terminal looking confused enough to star in a cartoon, and was promptly handed a *transit ticket* to fly **back south** to my real destination.
Honestly? I was SO GLAD I slept through the whole thing.
If I’d woken up halfway and seen the plane veering somewhere unexpected, I probably would’ve screamed bloody murder thinking it was a kidnapping or a pirate adventure. But instead, it was just another quirky, funny page in my Madagascar storybook.