In the district of Guinea Fowl's Rock (Ambatonakanga), there is a small Malagasy restaurant. The main dining room is built at the edge of a steep slope overlooking the district of Male Village (Ambohidahy). From its windows, one has a exceptional view of the nearby hills, the lake, and the mountains closing the distant horizon. I sat for lunch, after a polite nod to the only other two patrons. I ordered my meal, curry fish with rice, having some misgiving about it: in inexpensive Malagasy restaurants, fish generally equates to something the size of an overgrown sardine packed with tiny bones.

While waiting for my meal to be prepared, I looked at the scenery, and suddenly realized that the green-roof house with a turret, nearest to the foot of the cliff, was where I lived from age 3 to 6! That's where my brother Yves and I lived with our mom and dad first, then, after their divorce, mom's parents, René and Yvonne, moved in.

I took a number of photos of the scenery. Next to the turret house sat a small appartment building. It had been built by my grand-father René Bablon, architect to the Jesuit Mission, on the spot once occupied by a large brick house with a balcony on three sides. We called the balconied house "La Grande Case". Before 1942, the Lefevre family lived there, two parents and four kids: Guy, Josianne, Geo, Loline. In 1942, the Bablon and the Lefevre decided to swap houses, us moving into La Grande Case and the Lefevre moving into the turreted house. My grand-father needed extra space to install a small factory of pasta (macaronis, noodles, vermicellis, and such), to earn a living while construction work was suspended during the war. So we moved to the "Grande Case" and lived there for eight years. Yves and I always regretted that the grande case was torn down to make way for stupid appartments.

The overgrown sardine arrived, bones and all. Presently, another customer entered, and sat with the other two. They had an animated conversation, the newcomer doing most of the talking. They spoke of the history of Madagascar, the genealogy of the Merina kings and queens, their own genealogy. Apparently, the newcomer had Queen Ranavalona III for distant relative.

These were interesting people, and I looked for a reason to speak to them. Ah! Here was a good reason: I was planning to go and visit in the next few days two historical places: Oh No Why Me (Babay) and Head Mountain (Lohavohitra). My topographic map clearly showed Babay, but not Lohavohitra, which should be no more than a couple of kilometers away. These learned men would surely know.

I went and asked. Of course they knew. And why was I interested, they inquired. We became buddies inside of two minutes. The newcomer was born in Madagascar, mostly of German ancestry; the other two were Malagasy, one in his seventies, journalist by trade, the other, much younger, a dentist. I led them to the window and pointed out the turret house:
-- "I lived in this house when I was a small child."
-- "Wow!" exclaimed the older man, "But this was the house of Monsieur René Bablon, the architect of the Jesuits!".

Beyond the appartment building, was the College Saint Michel where I spent most of my elementary to high school years. To the left was the hill of Big Sugar Cane (Amparibe), with, in the middle of it, the house and the garden of Jocelyn and Claire, who were lodging me during this trip. How moving to think that a substantial amount of my life could be seen from that one single vantage point!
	Amparibe	Saint-Michel