The other disconcerting thing Héry told me was that the government’s advice to limit families to three children meant that his 15 year old wife had already had three abortions. Apparently a liquor made from avocado leaves (boiled and strained) serves well. Ponder that.

Early today then, we admired a spectacularly misty dawn as we left for Tuléar. There is a wild west frontier town of several thousand people, that did not exist three years ago, but then they discovered sapphires, only three metres down. The place is swarming with prospectors and hangers on and opportunists. It’s just like the films of the Gold Rush, with the Sapphire Saloon, Gem Stores, Gold Sapphire Hotel etc. And a disturbingly large encampment of improvised tents for the next wave of hopefuls, many from Thailand, Sri Lanka and Senegal – all bathing in a large puddle. Just how many fortunes will be made??

Then suddenly the savannah stops. Forest takes over. Then gives way to flat-topped mountains and the unique palm of the region. Tuléar is remarkable for its dullness. The novelty of the unfamiliar has a certain charm, but the importunate infants are too worldly to be cute and it’s very, very grubby – though the pousse-pousse drivers are more inclined to dress like famous basketball players than derelicts.

Souluf shepherded us between banks (which didn’t accept pounds sterling – cash?!) and we became multi-millionaires instantly. Well, after queuing for 40 minutes. Then we bearded Air Madagascar. Of course, they wouldn’t accept InterAir as Air Mad, so no discount, but at least we do seem to have some valid tickets. Reality watches from the apron. With Souluf’s advice, we stitched together three nights north of the estuary and four nights south, with 4x4 and pirogue transfers, both bases having dive centres.

We left Tuléar (having yet again bumped into the couple from Jo’burg airport) via the town dump. Very depressing. The 27km took nearly two hours to traverse, demonstrating the terminal inferiority of the Land Cruiser to the Land Rover, though poor driving did nothing to ameliorate the impression. Houses here are tiny but there was a massive party at one village – maybe 1,000 people. Lots of Fanta! ‘

The Dunes’ hotel has twenty-odd quite nicely appointed bungalows and a Belgian-run dive centre. “CMAS trois étoiles, monsieur? Pas de problème.” So Adrian will be diving at 9.00am. And the meal we’ve just eaten was A1.