[8/03/07 Dear Lyons, This whole “speaking French” thing isn’t so terrible. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I am an American parrot walking around the rutted streets of Madagascar, cawing “Bonjour” “Bonjour” at everything I see. When I first got here, I felt like my coughs were coming out in English. Now, at least I’ve got the greeting down. And I’m building. I just got back from an hour taxi-ride around this tropical island with Nicolas, a cab driver. The mountain I wanted to climb was too far away, and it was getting dark, so he gave me a tour instead. We talked about volcanoes, crater lakes (12 of them here), sugar cane fields and rum production plants. I understood almost all of it – and I didn’t even get ripped off. Best wishes in NYC, another land where things often seem foreign. – SUTTER]
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