Madagascar

Four visits, eight years, and still the feeling of being on the surface. The market noise spreading down the hills of Antananarivo, the silhouettes of the Avenue of the Baobabs on red earth, the vanilla-scented shores of Nosy Be, the lemur calls in the Andasibe rainforest, the colonial train station of Antsirabe. Madagascar resembles nowhere else — not Africa, not the Indian Ocean, not Asia; a continent on its own. Patience is needed to return; once you go, quick addiction to going again.