After what seems like a lifetime, we’ve finally made it to Antananarivo, capital city and home to the Madagascar’s only international airport. The flight was smooth, the service superb and despite being wide awake for the duration (I can never sleep on long-haul flights), I feel alert.

Like most developing countries, the airports here are a completely different affair from those in rich Western Civilisation. Getting from the aircraft to the terminal was a much more direct affair, walking off steps and across tarmac, with the decaying sound of spinning-down engines and the smell of jet fuel hanging in the hot, humid air. Inside, there are no air conditioned waiting rooms, sprawling walkways or tax-free shops and the only distinction between departure and arrival areas is a small sign above double-doors leading from the tarmac. Simple, but effective.

Even though we’d checked our bags all the way to Nosy Be, we still had to collect and re-check them for the internal flight. This was more of a hassle than we realised, because almost as soon as we’d grabbed them from the conveyor, we were descended upon en-masse by twenty eager porters fighting over chance to bag-carrying commission. Despite firm but polite “no thank-you"s, we eventually relented and let the most eager of them carry our cases - 10m to the nearest check-in desk. It would’ve been more convenient to just give the guy the $2 just to leave us alone.

After getting our bearings, we met up with our tour operator to settle up our fees and make the final arrangements for our trip around the island. On handing him a vast wad of cash, he treated us to a Coke and ushered us to our next flight…