Taolagnaro - Port Dauphin
Where the stars cast shadow
The small barrack - the Taolagnaro airport - makes unfeasible an escape from the insistence of the taxi drivers and the tourist mediators. We cross the town in a small car whose driver tries to make us think that a trip to the very south of the island is even possible with him in his vehicle. Thanks heavens that we still keep some objections, although what we have lived until now makes us quite permeable to hallucinations of this kind. Beyond the Tropic of the Capricorn the criterions of what is acceptable necessarily go beyond the customary reasonings.
Morning and evening walks along the beaches that circumscribe the town. The crystal clear wakes that rub down waters, drawing back the sand, glittering as amethyst, take control of our dreams. Surrounded by the mist intensified by an tireless whip of waves, we are the epicenter of a liquid crystal ball. There the fantasies are condensed. What more to ask for?
A stop for motley vehicles, a place where sometime day's o week's delays are provided for, ethereal destinations, impracticable for whose living in a countable time. We embark upon one of them that seems attainable in hours instead of in days. Towards the south end of the island, Faux Cap, baptized this way by the Portuguese who undertook and recognized the fallacy of their calculations there.
The broken tarp is a privileged viewpoint from the top of the truck to liquefy ourselves with the outside, with the sheer dimensions of dusty terrain that saturate the field of vision. The herds of zebus that burst into the devastating light of the dusk that annihilates the contours and the certainties. The leaks of the voices that mark the rhythms of daily chores. The perfect coexistence of the dramatic and the unbearably beautiful.
