Pretzels in Madagascar!

After my succesful pinhata story two weeks ago, I thought I'd continue with my mission to introduce foreign objects in Madagascar. The American Marines were organizing an October Fest last week, and you know - we're always in for beer drinking parties. So I was going to contribute by making pretzels. Can't get more German than that!

What you may not know, is that Pretzels have a secret ingredient that is very hard to come by. It's called caustic soda, it's a chemical also used for unclogging toilets and killing insects. Before baking the pretzels, you have to dip them into caustic soda to make them brown, shiny and crispy. Believe me, egg yolk won't do!!

So I am asking around for this stuff at a pharmacy in Tana, not knowing even what it is in French. The pharmacist doesn't understand anything of my story -can't blame him, - and I am about to step out until an old man asks me if I am looking for Soude Castique. And then he popped the question that almost made me faint with surprise: "Are you going to make pretzels??"  How the #$%$% did he know? Nobody knows this stuff even exists, let alone that it's used for pretzels.

As it turns out, he's German who ran a German restaurants for many years in Tana. He kindly explained to me that caustic soda is really hard to find here, but why don't I come by his house to get some. I couldn't believe my luck!

When you read the instruction on how to use this stuff, you'll get scared. It's a poison, and it's recommended to use gloves and even goggles when dipping the pretzels in it. Seriously!

Dipping pretzels in their poison - scary stuff

The German man, his name his Horst, tells me to dilute the powder in hot water before dipping the unbaked pretzels. But the recipe I am following on internet mentions cold water. I choose the latter. Very very bad choice! After two hours of hard work, I dip them and put them in the oven, but they come out as bread sticks. Not crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Just hard pieces of  baked dough.

I should have listened better to Horst. Not to the internet!

Two valuable lessons I learned that day:

1. Never think you know better than the locals


2. People will eat anything after a few beers!

PROST!

The Island of the Unpronounceable Names

The city of Tana is actually one big market. Wherever you go, you'll find stalls, vendors, sellers, you name it. You can find anything and everything on these markets, from Made-in-China plastic sneakers to beautifully crafted furniture, from home-made rat traps to crocodile meat.

There is also a cute second hand book market, where you can buy French Marie Claire magazines from the nineties, and all kinds of second (third, fourth who knows?)-hand books. Some time ago I came across an old history book published in the fifties, for usage in primary schools. I paid, after stern negotiation, 5,000 Ar for it - two Euro.

Super-contented with my purchase, I started reading it immediately, a chapter about the demography of the then four million Malasy.  The school book described the division of the people among at least ten tribes, with adventurous names that translate like: the Invincibles, the Inseparables, the Warriors, and They who are tempted by commandments.

After a few pages however, I began to lose my reading appetite. A chapter about the royal history read as follows: "And when Andianampoinimerina had become the king of Ambohimanagan, he appeased his parents Andrianamabotsimarofy and Ravorombatodambohidratimo, who was also called 'the wild boar'. He ordered a department of more than a thousand soldiers from Tsimanahotsy andTsimiamboholahy to protect Antananarivo. He then prepared himself to defeat Andrianamanalinorivo and Ravoekamabahoaka at which he succeeded at Kiririokafisakana’.

I kid you not. These poor, poor Malgasy primary school kids who have to memorize this! They must be very smart!

Of course the people here have found a way to handle these names, only one out of every so many syllables is pronounced. Hence Tana. I bet you the above two names are Raz and Andj. Or something.
Nevertheless, to me Madagascar is the Island of the Unpronounceable Names.

Does Antananarivo Have Any Highlights?

By: Charlotte Cook, guest-writer

I received a request from a writer to post on my blog. No problem, I said, and here's the article. I agree with her. Tana is not exactly bursting with touristy highlights. Probably the only reason worth visiting Tana for, is..us. We are the highlight of Antanananarivo ( ha ha).

Antananarivo, Madagascar’s capital city, has a reputation and it’s not particularly good. Not exactly known for its up-market package holidays, the majority of people travel to the African island to sample its unique wildlife and this can seem like a prospect far removed from the bustling city. Most tourists land at the capital city's airport (with some cheap flights available at certain times of year) before heading off on their travels but you can not visit a country without visiting its capital.

If you want to get the best out of Antananarivo, you have to be prepared to do some walking, and a lot of this is up and down hills. The highest point is 2643m above sea level, making the city one of the highest capitals in the world, but even at an average height of 1400m means that packing some decent walking shoes is advisable. The effects of altitude also need to be considered, whilst it is wise to prepare for a temperate, rather than an equatorial, climate due to the height of the city. The rainy season is between November and April, which is something else for tourists to bear in mind.

Rova Queen's Palace

If you accept the need to climb hundreds of stone steps if you wish to see the main sights, you will discover a city rich in cultural, historical and architectural attractions, albeit one which is quietly crumbling. The highlights are definitely the Queen’s Palace (Rova), which is a long walk from the hotel district and the nearby Prime Minister’s Palace. However, the former was destroyed by fire some fifteen years ago and is merely a shell.

In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Antananarivo was the capital of the Merina monarchs and they conquered the rest of Madagascar from here. Buildings from this era were typically made out of wood or rushes before the introduction of stone in 1869, so few survive. Some of the timber palaces from the pre-stone era still sit atop the ridge on which the capital is built and provide an Indonesian influence to the city. Since then, buildings from the French colonial era have been dominant. These include more palaces, Anglican and Roman Catholic cathedrals, and civil buildings including hospitals and colleges.

The pastel terracotta of the buildings blends seamlessly with the rice paddies, which are prevalent throughout the capital. Visiting the markets is definitely worth it, particularly The Lemur Park, which is 45 minutes out of the city and has a good restaurant. 

Walking is definitely the best way to see the city but the poverty is endemic. Beggars will hassle tourists for money, so remember to keep your guard but a forceful ‘Non, merci’ should see them leave you alone.

A Pinhata in Madagascar

With our stuff arriving last week, came a real pinhata made in Mexico (I believe). Our good friend Margarita Mena, party queen of Belmopan, had smuggled it into our container, which arrived - oh good fortune - just days before Soleine's 6ht birthday. What a pleasure to discover!

This may have been the first ever real pinhata in Antanananarivo, who knows?

For those who have known me in Belize, they may chuckle...because the very first time I used a pinhata - in Belize- I forgot to put candy in it. I did not know, I thought I had bought the damn thing full of sweets.

Anyway, this time I knew and I filled it up with sweets, colourful little hair clips, crayons, plastic wild animals and marbles. The latter not the best idea because they look just like sweets...image ooouch your teeth - another learning curve for me.

Before

All in all, it was a great success last Sunday, at my little big girl's birthday party. Long live multicultural habits, a true exchange of cultures across the globe!

During

After - with contents this time!

The Difference

One thing worth mentioning...when we received our stuff, I immediately started attacking the boxes with a kitchen knife, ripping off pieces of scotch tape, tearing the wrapping paper into shreds...a bit like a crazy deprived person. It felt therapeutic to 'mutilate' those boxes that had kept us waiting so long.

When our housekeeper started to help us, the difference between her and my working mode became immediately clear. She carefully took off every piece of wrapping paper, then ironed it with her hands. Boxes were not ripped but opened with care, and the larger pieces of carton were nicely stacked. The 'loot' was later on divided among our three house staff. Of course I followed the good example.

Everything piece of trash in gets recycled Madagascar. 

There is not a piece of garbage that is wasted. Some people live in the garbage containers. Bottle tops, yogurt cups, newspapers, straws, you name it, it's all collected. A lot of it goes into new products. People are very creative here.

Before

After

On the one hand I feel it's quite reassuring, you know that most of your waste will find a new purpose. On the other hand... you really have to think twice before chucking something in the bin. I am kind of suspecting that there's a business of selling full trash bags going on here. In our previous apartment the concierge insisted on taking out our bags herself, and she would not let anyone come near them. Could it be that she was selling them on? Surely a good full Vazaha trashbag is worth something, in the country where everything is recycled...

The Call

...Oh yes! It happened...finally!

Last night, at 1.30 AM, Michel (thank God not me) received a phone call. A truck driver, speaking in loud Malagasy,asked  if he could deliver a container? Well, yes sir! After three months of traveling the big oceans, eight weeks of waiting for paper work in the port of Tamatave, followed by 20 days of strike, our container finally found its way to our house. We got the call. Can we deliver? Yes you can. Even at two in the morning.

Apparently, and rightly so, container-truck drivers are not allowed to enter Antanananarivo during the day, that's why he came at two AM, and had to be out before four in the morning. So in less than two hours, Michel and our night guard Nirine, had to unload a 20-foot container. Unloading was the easy part, as gravity helps, but after that all the stuff had to be carried inside the house. And they did it!
And I? I was asleep, soundly, only to wake up in the morning with Soleine, and to find that Father Christmas had passed int he night.

Oh Lord Won't You Give Me...Some Patience Please

My two visitors from last week remarked that we are living quite a privileged life. This made me think, and of course I came to the conclusion that it is true. It's an exciting life, full of opportunities to explore extraordinary nature, a variety of cultures; always living in comfortable houses, with large gardens and house staff.  

In a way we live like stars: we have housekeepers, cooks, sometimes even personal trainers, a nanny; we can go to the salon every day, have our toe nails painted weekly, our eyebrows trimmed neatly and our hair blow-dried each Friday. We can live in luxury while most people in the country live in poverty. We buy weekly groceries worth more than a local monthly salary. It is all true. I realize that.

I also know that famous stars always pay a price for their living style: mostly their absence of privacy. You could say that  as expats we also pay a price. There are security threats in most countries, the hygiene is not the same as in western countries - to put it nicely -, we have nerve-racking traffic jams, mosquitos, ants and other creepy crawlies, and so on. Personally, I have learned to live with those inconveniences.

What I find most difficult to accept is the fact that it so hard to get things done in most developing countries. Days seem to trickle by without concrete output. Weeks go by without notable achievement. It's always tomorrow, next time, next week.  Madagascar is no exception. Everything takes long: receiving mail, making a bank transfer, licensing a car, clearing a container, getting insurance cards, you name it.  Let alone trying to build up a project, establishing relationships. A project duration of one or two years seems like a joke.

Even our 5-year old daughter has a watch

Do you know this African proverb? African people may say: They have the watches, but we have the time.
By 'they' they mean us, Westerners, and 'we' is the Africans. It seems so true. Time is on their hands, and patience is not something we learned to have when we grew up.

Therefore my prayer, in the spirit of Janice Joplin.

Oh Lord, don't you buy me Mercedes Benz, just give some patience, I must make amends.

A M E N !

Don't Know Much Biology...

This week I had a visit of two retired biology teachers from my country. They made an old dream come true with their trip to Madagascar. This island is indeed biology heaven on earth.
I invited them home and while walking around our yard they studied the trees and flowers which just started to blossom. They picked petals, showed me stems, stigmas, styles, stamens and saps; making me feel like a high school student again.

They gave me some lovely Dutch plant names, freely translated into: Mother with Baby in Lap, Little Cheese flowers, Lion's mouths, Christ's Thorn and Hole plants. They of course also knew the Latin names, so now I know we have Philondendron, Poinsettia, Coleus, Drecaenas and even Aloe Vera. Very educational.

Aloe Vera

Philondendron

Dracaena 

They even knew the species name of our two turtles, which I already forgot. I just call them Ninja I and Ninja II.

Ninja I

Ninja II

The only flower they could not identify was a huge yellow one, very pretty, and when they fall of they look like deflated balloons. Anyone?

Mystery Flower...before turning into deflated balloon

And Suddenly...

..the moment I waited so long for, is here. Mid-September. The change of season is obvious: no more need to light the fireplace in the evenings, the thick, warm duvet is way too hot now. Spring is in the air! I can awake from hibernation. And that while most of you readers are preparing for autumn. Gna gna...

This is the moment I waited for, as most expats will agree that the first few weeks in a new country are not much fun. No house, no friends, no work (for me), no school, living out of a suitcase, etc. It all takes time, about two months is my experience. These two months have now passed. And what have we achieved so far?

Quite a number of friends from all nationalities, a daughter attending school happily each day, many play-dates after school, a lovely house, and this afternoon I 'scored' my first consultancy assignment as advisor monitoring and evaluation. We even held our first hash mismanagement meeting last night.

So, life's is good here, despite the killing bureaucracy in this country (read: corruption). Our container is still stuck in the port, our car is not yet licensed, my visa hasn't been arranged. But hey, who cares. Spring is in the air. And in our yard!

Flower Girl

Flowery Tree - no idea which one

I thought these were for Christmas

Bird of paradise

Baby papaya

Some kind of orchid living on a dead tree

Just like Horses

"Look mama, they have such funny horses here, they look just like people!"

I was reminded of this quote when we were walking in Antsirabe last weekend. It came from an 1968-booklet which belonged to my grandma, entitled: 'Juf, er zit een weduwe in de boom' ('Teacher, See that Widow in theTree' - referring to a black crow) in the same series as 'Teacher, that Butterfly is Wearing my Pyjamas'. The booklet has funny quotes from children, the above came from a 3-year old boy who observed rickshaw drivers in Singapore.

Seen from the eyes of a 3-year old, the skinny, muscular men running in front of their carriages that carry passengers do remind of horses. I am talking about pousse-pousse drivers. In Antsirabe you can still find hundreds of them. In fact, they are so many, and there are so few tourists that you can guess what will happen. They harass you.

'Madame, madame prends-moi, Gilbert numero trois, Bernard, numero cinq, Christian numero douze. Take me, take me, the guys are promoting themselves as if they are race horses in a betting competition.

Nicely painted Pouss-Pousse (Tire-Tire)

In fact, they are so annoying that you end up walking. And that's a pity, because we all know they need the money, and we need the rides. But no, I don't think they look like horses. What I am wondering about is what they call them 'pousse-pousse' in french, while clearly they don't push but pull! Could it be cause they're so pushy?

"Good Old Times"

Every former colony has at least one. Some have been very well maintained and are still operating at the highest levels; others have been totally abandoned. In my 'career' as expat, I have had the pleasure to stay at quite a few. I am talking about colonial hotels. The Mount Lavinia hotel in Sri Lanka, the grand old Victoria Falls hotel in Zimbabwe, and the Raffles in Singapore come to mind as examples of well-preserved places where you can still sniff the odor of  'the good old times' and yet be pampered by 20th century luxuries.

The Grand Hotel da Beira - my first foreign post -, is a textbook example of good old times gone bad. It was only functional for a few years until the Portugese were chased out in the 1960s. Ever since, trees are growing out of the windows, goats run around in the lobby, all parquet floors have been burnt up by squatters and street children slide down the grand entry stairways. Can't blame them.

Grande Hotel da Beira - before and after

Madagascar has its own colonial icon: l'Hotel des Thermes in Antsirabe, the epitome of french colonization in this country. As Michel is conducting a 10-day training for the National Park managers (not in that hotel!), we joined him for the weekend and could not resist the temptation to stay there - as well as to hide from obnoxious pousse-pousse drivers. Hotel des Thermes was built in 1897 hence over 110 years later it is still operational. It has been refurbished with a 'sixties chique' decor, but the original glory has since long faded.

Hotel des Thermes Antsirabe - before and after

Of course I can write about the cob webs under the attic, the cracks in our room's window - fixed with scotch tape and a coaster -, the green water in the swimming pool, the holes in the tennis nets, the TV with only one local channel, the unlevel pool table, the faded jackets of the waiters and so on, but I don't want to do that :-)

I prefer to reminisce and pretend to live in the fifties again. And that you can do very well at this hotel. So we enjoyed a leisurely game of afternoon tennis, then sipped on a Planters Cocktail at the terrace, enjoyed a 3-course dinner with frog legs and red wine, and ended our stay with a game of pool in the bar before retiring to our spacious chamber. We were the only guests....but had a grand old time, for 45 euro's per night.

No shoes allowed in the pool!

Cuisses de Nymphes - sounds better than frog legs

Spacious rooms at the Hotel des Thermes

La Grande Rentree

7 AM.

My mobile phone's alarm is waking me up. I have a distant feeling of awkwardness...like something big is happening today but I can't figure out what - I don't usually awake at 7 :-). Then I remember, it's my daughter's first day at The Big School. This is how we used to call it in Holland. De Grote School is when kindergartens are over and you're entering grade 1. No more arts and crafts, singing songs and playing with dolls and trucks: serious work starts here! French and Math. Reading and Writing. I don't know who was more nervous for La Grande Rentree this morning, me or my daughter.

Arriving at the parking lot the typical picture of an international school emerges: lots of big cars with drivers. many CD-plates. In Soleine's class there are twelve nationalities, from Swedish to Indonesian, 10 boys and 4 girls. The teacher is Tammy and she's great. Soleine seems cool, she sits down next to an American girl and starts coloring.. When I leave she hardly says good bye to me.

It was definitely me the most nervous....

French Diplomacy

Last weekend I met a French diplomat at a friend's house. He introduced himself as Jean Yves, diplomate, as if it were his last name. That seemed a little odd to me, also because I find 'French' and 'Diplomatic' a bit of a contradiction in terms, like a romantic Dutchman, a funny German or a soft-spoken American. 

Anyway, we were chatting about our children and I tell him that our daughter will go to the American school. He immediately says: - as if I'd asked him for his opinion - 'Well, that is a big mistake'. Politely I ask him to clarify himself, and he goes on: 'The Americans have absolutely no future here in Madagascar'.

I think he is referring to the fact that the Americans have pulled out much of their support to this country, and that the American ambassador has left without being replaced. This is kind of a punishment until the interim government will get their act together.

"I am not putting here there because of the American future in Madagascar", I explain him, "I am sending her there because English is the number one language in the world, and that's the future". I also want to tell him that French isn't , and that France is not the center of the universe, even in Madagascar. I want to remind him that the French did not even make it through the first round of world cup football, while the Americans did, and WE the DUTCH we're in the final!! I want to say all that, but I don't. I try not to be stereotype Dutch; straight-to-the-point-not-to-say-blunt.

I want to be diplomatic...like the Africans

Fairy on the Roof?

My daughter Soleine has lost her second baby tooth. She actually wiggled it for so long that it fell out. When this happens in my country, and in many others as well, the tooth fairy will pass by, leaving a coin or some small change. In France, it is a little mouse that brings the coin (la petite souris) - same idea.

In Madagascar they throw their baby teeth on the roof,

while making a wish, something like: "old tooth, go away, and bless this child with healthy teeth"! Nobody seems to know why the roof is the best place for old teeth to be buried but anyway.

Always a fan of local customs, I explain this to my daughter. "But mama, how is the fairy going to go on the roof?", she asked, with coin signs in her eyes. Well, I did not think that was the problem, even a little mouse can climb on a roof, my problem was how are we going to get up to look for the coin? Because there has to be coin.

Too complicated, so I stuck to the little mouse story. Indeed, he brought a lovely, shiny 50 Ariary coin with two big baobabs on it (value: 2 cents).

This morning when Soleine was in school, my housekeeper and I secretly tossed the tiny tooth on our roof. Soleine must not find out that there was no little mouse, that we 'cheated' on her. A good thing she can not read this blog. Please don't tell her...

Pardon? Where Are We Again?

Check these pictures! And guess where they were taken?

Can you believe this? We signed up for Africa, tropical weather, palm trees, bananas - that sort of thing. On a weekend trip two hours drive from Tana...
...we found this, Switzerland! C'est incroyable!

It's Lac Mantasoa, where we stayed at a Maison d'Hotes, chez Albert and Lili. Lovely place, great comforting winter food. They make everything themselves: wholewheat bread, vanilla yogurt, merguez sausages and smoked Zebu. And yes, they have a cuckoo clock, how could they not? The only things missing are snow and Edelweiss. To contact Albert and Lili: albelil@yahoo.fr, tel 034 04 846 74.

Hibernation

The magic adapter

We've moved into our new house! We quit our drafty  apartment (I looked up the proper spelling of this word -'draft' or 'draught'- and noticed that it has at least 8 totally different meanings) to install ourselves in a charming old bungalow surrounded by a lovely yard with ancient trees and all kinds of strange flowers. We're still kind of camping, because latest news is that our container is somewhere in Oman.
There are various workmen all day long, painting and fixing a multitude of small problems: from leaking taps and scary electricity outlets to shitty shutters. Every day we find something new that needs repairing.  In general,
I find that each day is full of surprises here ,
and they aren't unexpected surprises, we should know better by now.

An example. A few days ago we bought a TV. There was already a cable connection in the house so we thought to simply plug the TV, connect it to the decoder et voila. Wrong. On day 1, after unpacking the TV, it appeared to have an American plug. Arrrgghh, and I though I got rid of these indefinitely when leaving Belize. The decoder also did not fit, the 'prise peritel' could not be plugged into the modern flat screen TV - yes, we have those in Tana. I call the shop, Courts, for advise, and they send their technician the next day. On day 2 we're told to buy a special adapter somewhere in a backstreet shop down town Tana. Risking a life time jail sentence I drive to the shop, through a street where a lot, a lot a lot of people are walking, praying I don't run over one. Back home we reconnect the plug... nothing. It turns out there is no power at all in the outlet. Now my husband risk his life, electrocution and all, and manages to fix the plug. On day 3 we have image but no sound. The magic adapter, no doubt made in China, appears faulty and has to be returned to the shop. I have to wait til day 4 for our driver to take me there. On day 5 we're finally watching TV.

This is just the TV. I know we are in for many more surprises. I am not complaining, I am merely describing. The whole month of August I dedicate to getting the house ready. For one moment or two I envy Embassy people who arrive in their fully equipped, furnished and 'upholstered' houses, but a quick look at their flowery couches with matching drapes, and I am happy to have choice. I have nothing better to do anyway. August is cold and boring, everyone is on holiday. Waiting for our things to arrive and my life to begin takes long.

To be honest: I feel like hibernating. The current weather suits a good winter sleep: gray skies, cold drizzles and a foggy, humid mornings. Just for one month, until the house is ready and our belongings have arrived. Can someone wake me up in September please?

Throwing Panties?

When I first visited Madagascar 10 years ago, for a week of

View from our window

vacation while living in Zimbabwe, I was struck by two things: it's beauty...and it's poverty. Never had I seen so many poorly dressed, malnourished or laboring children as here. Today it does not seem that much has changed. Just below our apartment is a small 'slum'-kind of settlement: mud houses with metal sheet roofs held in place by old car tires, without electricity or running water. There are always at least twelve children of all ages cheerfully playing football with a ball made of rubbish. The children have no shoes and the little ones are butt naked, their moms unable to afford diapers. It does not seem to bother them, but it bothers me. When I first noticed it I was tempted to open my window and throw out some of our daughter's panties. She has so many...they have so little. After twelve years of working and living in developing countries I am still not used to this. And I never will. Of course I know that occasional handouts are not the solution.  
People will start thinking that all Vaza, slang for white folks, in Tana are potential panty-throwers...
I also know I can't is help everyone. Why is Madagascar so poor? This question does not have a simple answer. I found a link that explains some of the contributing factors quite well.

What can I do to help? I don't know yet. Development has to come from within. We as expats can only support (technically, financially, morally) processes that are initiated by the people from Madagascar. Unfortunately, many NGOs and projects have withdrawn since the 2009 crisis. I want to help but have not yet found my way around. Once I have, I'll be sure to let you know. Meanwhile I will have to control my panty-distributing urges...not easy.

Lemurs in Sight...

I like to move it move it...

We've seen our first lemurs in Madagascar! There is a Lemur Park not far from the city, for those who can not travel many miles to go to one of the national parks. I was a little afraid to find some half-tame lemurs in dirty cages but nope...they actually live freely on 4 acres of land, surrounded by a river that serves as a natural border. Lemurs don't like water. They live up in beautiful bamboo trees or dwell on the ground.We have seen the famous black and white-tailed Maki, and the white and brown dancers that hop on two legs. So funny! You immediately hear the 'I like to move it, move it' tune in your head when you watch them.The guide was telling how this movie has favored Madagascar tourism, but then someone had to spoil it all by causing all these political troubles.

Do we really have to wait until 2012 when Madagascar 3 will be released?

I hope not. Except from a few complaining restaurant owners, a burnt-out supermarket, and the exciting evacuation stories of a few Americans, we don't notice much from the political trouble of last year. On a political level however, Madagascar obviously needs a government representative of its people. But life moves on, and so do we (like to move it move it...).

Not Bad...

Never mind the in-flight magazine dating from December 2009, the minimal entertainment options and the 5-hour delay on the way out; we flew from Europe to Tana in business class with Air Madagascar for the same price as an economy-class ticket with Air France! That meant we could skip the 2-hour wait to check in at Paris Charles de Gaulle airport; we were invited to the American Airlines lounge in Paris, and had champagne with smoked duck breast on board. Of course we slept like roses, almost horizontally, and we were the first ones to exit the plane. And that meant no queue at immigration, and our 3 suitcases (we were allowed 40 kilo each)   first on the baggage belt. Out and about in less than 15 minutes.

Hence I say: Air Mad? Not bad (at all)! 

At Admiral's Lounge at CDG