That's me, the national dancing tree

[8/17/07 UNIV. OF ANTANANARIVO -- Dear John, At the petanque match, I sat on the concrete stadium stairs next to the mascot for the Island Games, Ravi. That’s short for Ravenala, the name of a famous Malagasy palm with leaves that fan out on a single plane.

This mascot’s real name is Manitra. (He is one of 10). He’s 23 year old, and he says being the mascot is a good job. He dances for crowds and takes photos with tourists, mostly. He likes dancing, but the costume is restrictive, he said. You can see scratch marks on the shoulders of his red vest from the head bouncing back and forth while he dances. And the suit is hot. But whatever, he said, he gets to be on TV (although his friends make fun of him and you can’t really tell who he is). So here’s to dancing that’s uninhibited by television cameras or restrictive tree-character costumes. Love, John]

Plinko + Kerplunk = Petanque

[8/17/07 UNIV. OF ANTANANARIVO Dear John, Eyes gazing intensely over a rectangular gravel court, the petanque player crouches in the center of red mini-hula-hoop – sized for someone like Cindy Loo Hoo or Nicole Ritchie. Metal ball in hand, palm facing down, she swings her arm back and then steadily forward. Release. The ball sails through the air – sometimes flying as high as the tops of nearby flag poles – and lands near a back of others with a “petanque.” Television cameras follow the ball through the sky. When it lands, a patter of clapping comes from the stadium seating.

Welcome to the bizarre and obsessive world of petanque (pronounced pay-tunk) at the Island Games in Madagascar. This country is full of petanque-heads, and, after watching the game for a few hours, I still have no idea why. It’s bocci ball, dude, except the balls are two shades of metal – shiny and not-so-shiny – instead of different colors. This belongs at a BBQ, not the regional Olympics.

The point of the game is simple: is to toss your teams balls close to a small green ball, which is the target, or the “jack.” But these people, and their backers on petanque.org, take that task to uber-serious degrees. Here is a suggested warm-up exercise from petanque.org (they're way to professional for .com):

“Warm Up. Roll 2 boules (that’s “balls” in French) around the palm of your hand. Rotate shoulders, throw a few gentle shots. Don’t start cold and a 10m shot!”

10 meter shots. Phew.

I made a few friends at the petanque tournament. The first was a young woman (don’t know her name) who plays petanque for the University of Antananarivo’s team. Yes, really, they have a team. I met her a her boyfriend while I was wandering around the university, looking for the petanque match. The problem with my approach: I had forgotten the name of the game. The night before, I had taken to jokingly calling it Plinko (from The Price is Right ... who is the new host, by the way?) and Kerplunk (from 1980s living coffee tables).

Our conversation, in French mind you:

“Do you know where the Island Games are?” I asked.
“Oh, of course. Which game?” she said.
“Ummm, I don’t know the name exactly … there are tiny balls… I think it’s called tuk-tuk?”

She died laughing.

“OK, we’re going there,” she said.
Apparently tuk-tuk is the word for cracker here. All the way to the courts they were speaking in Malagasy and laughing. “Jibba jabba jibba jabba… tuk tuk … HAHAHAHA!” I’m always here to entertain …

Love, John
PS: petanque.com also has postcards. Some a really hilarious.]

420 stairs to the Indian Ocean Games

[8/12/07 TANA Dear Jim and Pat, At the top of a 420-step staircase, Richard leaned on a rock rail, watching ant-sized men play rugby in a stadium below. Today is the first day of the “Jeux des Isles,” or Island Games, which is sort of a mini-Olympics for the countries in this region. The games last all week, and the city is all spiffed-up for the arrival of outsiders: colorful banners on all of the roads, homeless people conspicuously missing from the tunnels that go through the mountains around the city. On top of one mountain, I asked Richard, who is an IT guy at the local hospital, why he didn’t watch the match from inside the stadium. He said the tickets were far too expensive for him. We talked for a while: I learned that his favorite sport is basketball and he learned that I would be way too short to play basketball in the United States, and then I left him there. I went down all 420 stairs, watching people on their way up huff and puff and stop for breaks. When I got to the bottom, I found out that tickets to the event were only 1,000 Ariary, or 50-cents US. The idealistic part of me wanted to trudge back up the mountain to offer to buy Richard a seat. It probably would have made his day. But I didn’t. And now I’m back to that emotion that is all-too-familiar here: guilt. Next time I meet a Richard, I will offer to help out -- even if there are 420 stairs to climb. Good thing there are one MILLION staircases in the city. Love, John]