Deeply regretting the passing of time, I reached Brickaville on the next day. The journey had not been comfortable at all. Hundreds of trucks passed me by, and bear in mind that local drivers drove like maniacs! I wouldn't have had the guts to take those numerous curves so fast. After all, I saw two trucks ditched, while one driver lost his cargo in the middle of the road – it was a 'small' rock measuring almost 2x2x2m! I did not feel like finding one suddenly in front of my bicycle! Being the seat of one of two biggest distilleries on the Red Island, Brickaville is famous for the production of rum. It is made from sugar cane, which is available in abundance.

Admiring the landscape, I rode past rice field terraces stretched in small valleys. Most of them had been drained before the dry season. I saw hills overgrown with low shrubs. Having left the forests far behind, I could no longer count on any shade, as the Malagasy people had not spared even old trees.

During the first few days I had to learn many things. Although I could always buy bananas, mangos or something to drink when passing through villages, I needed to carry a supply of water and food. It was difficult to fix bottles of mineral water to the bike. The panniers had already been full, and when placed on the rack, the bottles kept cracking on the bumpy roads. It was driving me crazy! I usually bought two bottles of water, but in the end I hardly had one at my disposal. Almost all village shops offered Coca-Cola, Sprite or the local THB beer. Those drinks, however, usually had an ambient temperature, which was 30-35°C. Kerosene refrigerators were a rarity, and electricity was supplied only to towns or large villages.

I spent a night at Florida Hotel. When looking at my photos some time later, Marek Dworski was very surprised to see that I had gone so far only to end up in the same bed as he once did! Unlike the hotel I had visited before, that one did not make a good impression on me. The shower was in fact a tap – with cold water of course – sticking out of the ceiling, while a half of the toilet bowl had been chopped off. In short – a total mess. But… the bed was equipped with a mosquito net! The hotel itself (comprising a few bungalows) was situated just one meter from a busy road. Had it not been for the earplugs, that night would have been a nightmare! Still, I did not sleep well because of ants – the bed stood in their way so the insects kept crawling on it and on me. I scratched myself all night long, being sure that the place was infested with lice. It was only in the morning that I found out what sort of guests I had!

On many other occasions the mosquito net that I had with me proved invaluable. It had been sewn by my other half – always loving and supportive Lucyna – according to my own design. The cuboid net had a long tape fixed to each corner, which helped to set it up in any conditions. Protecting me against mosquitoes, the thing allowed me to believe that I would avoid catching malaria.

The following day I arrived in Tamatave - the largest port city of the Red Island. I was put up for the night by the kind Oblates, where I could finally speak my mother tongue, have a bath and lie down in a normal bed. The missionaries also told me many interesting things about the local people and their customs.

I had no difficulty completing the next part of the route, totalling 172 km and ending in Soanierana-Ivongo. The road was as flat as a table. The only impediment was the rain pouring down for an hour. This time I took a risk, and allowed myself to get wet. Although I was soaked to the skin, the temperature of 35 °C provided thermal comfort, and when the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, I got dry in no time.

Soanierana-Ivongo was where the asphalt road ended.