Home again

The remaining two flights are uneventful, thankfully, and it's 2:30 a.m. Tuesday when we land at DFW International Airport. Dr. Strader and I keep each other awake on the drive home back to Abilene, arriving about 5:30 a.m. I spend most of Tuesday sleeping. Upon returning to the office, I am amazed at the number of people who seek me out to say they've enjoyed following the blog, and I hope you have, too. The Madagascar Presidential Scholars Program will be the cover story of the upcoming Fall 2008 issue of ACU Today magazine, so watch for more details, reflections and images from the trip there.

I encourage my fellow travelers – and the new graduates – to write me and share their thoughts about their experience; I'll publish them here in future posts, and share other info and images as time allows. I hope we've made you feel like you were along for the ride.

– Ron Hadfield and Ryan Britt

Lemur of the Day: Tuesday

The doctor is, uh, not in

[Monday] Dr. Jerry Strader, pictured here in happier times, became the third victim of intestinal drama on Sunday afternoon – the day we left Madagascar. He had gone to a nearby church and then to meet with Malagasy Scouting leaders – one of his chief objectives for this trip. A longtime Scouting leader (and former Eagle Scout), he compared notes with his peers until surrendering to the roughest sickness yet experienced by the group. He "reported for duty" when the time came to leave for the airport, but he felt a lot better than he looked, and we gave him a wide berth. He blames his malady on a bacon-wrapped grilled banana from the Commencement reception buffet on Saturday night "that didn't taste right." Imagine that. His trip home will feel especially long.

Lemur of the Day: Monday

And this is also about how close we had to stand next to our hot, sweaty, tired, fellow travelers for three hours in the Paris airport.

De Mess at de Gaulle

[Monday] Upon entering the lower level of the terminal where we we need to secure our boarding passes, we find a large crowd of unhappy people who have been standing for two hours in the non-air-condititioned entryway while French security cleared the terminal because of an unattended piece of luggage. Babies and children are restless and fussy; to take a bathroom break means losing one’s place in the order of those waiting to enter the terminal upstairs. Travelers are packed into a concrete staircase leading to the ticket counters and customs area. No one seems to know what is going on, just that we need to get up the stairs or risk missing our flight at 1:30 p.m. for Boston. We wait shoulder-to-shoulder and nose-to-nape, inching our way up the stairwell as sweaty people atop it either are admitted to the terminal after clearing the imagined security barrier, or simply crowd closer together, leaving faux room below for others. Speculation runs rampant, and a rude police officer occasionally stops by to update the crowd in French (“Not now,” one replies sternly at a request to repeat the news in English) with news that rarely is informative. One agitated European raises his fist in the air and shouts something like “Follow me to Gate 15!” and leads his army of half a dozen up the stairway, even though there is no room for them. Not wanting to start another French Revolution, we squeeze aside to let the insurgents through, hoping they’ll get their just reward somewhere down the tarmac. Ninety minutes into this scene, we deduce from talking others that we need a boarding pass to clear security. So we surrender our hard-earned concrete turf to find someone below who can help, and return to the end of the line/crowd to begin another assault on the stairway. In all, it takes three hours to reach our gate from the time we entered the terminal, where we discover the flight is delayed anyway. The French make lovely fries, cuffs, linens and vanilla ice cream. But they could use some lessons in running an international airport (Boston’s Logan Airport, in contrast, has a customs area that is nearly surgical in its operation and efficiency.) All travelers appreciate the thoroughness of today’s security standards, but a smile and an apology for inconveniences would go a long way in situations such as this one.

The long ride home

[Sunday] We spend the afternoon and early evening re-packing, say our “good-byes” and head to the airport at 9:30 p.m. to begin the trek home. Joe Powell is delighted to discover his long-lost suitcase at the airport as he prepares to be ticketed for the Air France flight. It takes several hours to wait in line and go through customs. We fly out at 12:50 a.m. Monday, surrender a couple of time zones, and arrive in Paris at 10:40 a.m. It’s definitely preferable to get the longest leg of this journey over first. What we find at Charles de Gaulle Airport, however, takes the spring out of our step.

Presidential Palace

[Sunday afternoon] Ninety minutes of walking later, we ride by motorcade (and a lot slower, thankfully) to Iavoloha, where we are eager to visit the Presidential Palace – Madagascar’s version of the U.S. White House. It too, is white, built by Madagascar’s previous president in the 1970s, thanks to North Korean funding. It is spectacular, with the large rooms and tall ceilings you’d expect to see in the headquarters for a head of state. We gather first in a quaint white chapel with stained glass and hard-carved rosewood pews inside, a structure our host had built recently. Ravalomanana greets us on the steps of the palace, and escorts us from room to room, including his office, on a tour for about 75 people that one member of his staff calls “unprecedented.” Ravalomanana invites us to eat afterward in an adjacent special events center during a buffet lunch of the finest food Antananarivo has to offer. The students sing again, and short speeches are made by Drs. Money and Ravalomanana, government officials and the father of one of the students. There is a remarkably candid message from Ravalomanana reassuring students of his plans for them to be provided a role in his government in the regions where they live. “I think we have taught you that with privilege there always comes responsibility,” said Money in his remarks. “I have every confidence you will fill these responsibilities very well.”

Village tour

[Sunday] After church, we are greeted outside by the mayor of the village, who invites us to tour the neighborhood of houses linked by narrow passages and foot-paths where chickens cross and children play. No doubt Ravalomanana's close connection to this tiny community of his boyhood roots has colored his resolve to help lead his constituents into a broader worldview. The vista from the mountaintop here is amazing.