We were almost there, or so we thought. We were only about 25 kilometers away from our destination. However, these 25 kilometers were now to be covered not on asphalt, but on a dirt track. The horror began. The track was deeply rutted and worn out. It was a challenge even for a good off-road vehicle. We tackled it with ordinary street motorcycles.

The track was initially made of the typical red laterite soil of Madagascar. It was deeply worn on the sides by narrow zebu cart wheels and erosion channels, and woe to anyone who got their front wheel stuck in such a rut. The heavy rain had turned the track into a difficult and muddy path. A muddy and slippery slide transformed. Do any of you remember the TV show “Games Without Borders” from the 70s? The recurring joke in the games on this show was that the contestants had to navigate some oversized, silly object through a slippery course covered in soap. As the contestants struggled in the funniest contortions, they were further hindered by the opposing team shooting them with water cannons. As a child, I loved this show. Now I was in the middle of it: I had to maneuver through slippery mud on an unsuitable motorcycle, plow through deep puddles, and slide over mirror-smooth bumps. At some point, we. Approaching the sea, the terrain changed. The red mud gave way to soggy sand. This didn’t make things any better. The advantage of both mud and sand was that those who fell did so softly. No one got hurt, but by the time we finally arrived at the small ferry on the Canal des Pangalanes, most of us looked like pigs.